


The Universe Yields (I Chose You)

by Inky



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Compliant (Up to S7E13), Canon Divergence, Multi, Season 8 Complete Rewrite, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-09-24 08:28:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17097287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inky/pseuds/Inky
Summary: A complete season rewrite of Voltron: Legendary Defender starting from S8E1 to S8E13.





	1. Launch Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> You want me to cope with S8? This is how I cope.
> 
> Some things to make perfectly clear about this fic before I begin:  
> -endgame shiro/keith is confirmed.  
> -allura lives.  
> -no epilogue.  
> -lotor as an individual character will receive time, development, and care.  
> -curtis as an individual character will receive time, development, and care. He will not exist as a cardboard stand-in or a bandaid fix for bad PR. He will not marry Shiro, not even temporarily.  
> -the fic will follow closely to S8 timeline and canon, with changes made where necessary for a coherent story. Each chapter is one episode, reimagined my way.  
> -the fic will be one chapter per episode with a fourteenth chapter for an epilogue.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> \--[elle](https://twitter.com/weavelle)

“—And—and, and, he got _sooo_ worked up when I talked about you and Allura, you know—”

_Blam. Blam, blam._

“Why—” _Blam_. “—would he—” _Blam_. “—get worked up—” _Blam_. “—over—” _Blam_. “—that?”

“Oh, you know, he’s just—could you stop punching that thing for like, a tic? I’m pretty sure you taught it a lesson.”

The incessant _blam_ ming comes to a premature end as Keith steps back from the punching bag, sweat all over his face and dampening his red tank top. He wipes his sweat with the back of his wrapped hand and bounces from foot to foot, shaking his wrists out and rolling his neck. Hunk, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Keith’s duffel bag full of gym clothes, tosses him his water bottle. Keith catches it in one hand, pants out a barely comprehensible “thanks,” and chugs from it.

“Anyways. He’s being all weirdly shy about it. It’s not like Lance in the past, when he used to talk about girls all the time. I thought he was supposed to have, like, an entourage waiting for him. You know, ‘Lover Boy Lance’ and all that.”

Keith wipes the back of his hand over his wet lips, shrugs. “Well. I don’t really know much about his womanizing.” He takes another drink and swallows it, eyes up on the fluorescent lights overhead. “Don’t know if I really want to.”

“Yeah… heck if I know. I guess that’s all I really wanted to talk to you about. I wanted to talk to Pidge, but her mom almost trapped me in a twenty minute lecture about… spathi… spa...thiphyllum. Spathiphyllum.”

“...What is that?”

“Some sort of lily. I don’t know. But Pidge is grounded, so you’re, like, the last person alive to talk to. No offense.”

Keith squints. “How… is that not offensive.”

“I just thought you wouldn’t want to be bothered, with—with, you know, all the punching, and the… sweating,” Hunk laughs. A little half-smirk rises to Keith’s lips, and he shakes his head as he reaches over to give the punching bag another little punch—more like a tap for good luck. Officially done, he grabs a little face towel from his gym bag and wipes it around and around his face.

“Appreciated.”

“You’ve been pretty tense lately too, though. Everything okay?” Hunk asks. Keith shrugs and gives a noncommittal gesture with his hand.

“Just thinking about the mission. I’m good.”

“Hmm…?”

“Promise.”

“Oookay, if you say so,” Hunk sing-songs. He looks up at the ceiling for all of a second before he talks again, “Whatcha… whatcha doin’ about Shiro?”

Keith promptly chokes on his next mouthful of water, spraying his own face with it as it comes back up and out of the water bottle. Coughing, hacking, and now dripping wet, Keith tries to sputter out a response, only to wheeze at Hunk between heaves.

“Yeah—yeah, yeah, yeah, _see_ , I knew something was up. Spill it. Spill the beans.”

“ _Nothing’s_ going on with Shiro,” Keith snaps, but his voice is far too high-pitched for his liking. Hunk waggles his eyebrows at him, and it takes a hell of a lot of energy not to ball up his sweat rag and throw it in Hunk’s face. He resists. Barely.

“I don’t know, man. Sure sounds like something’s… going on with Shiro.”

Hunk flips around, lying on his belly with his chin propped up on his hands and his ankles popped in the air, toes pointed. He flutters his eyelashes dramatically up at Keith, lips pouted.

“Talk to me. I’m your bud.”

“ _Nothing_. Is going on with Shiro. We just—we’re busy. You should know this, you’re with me when we do relief effort missions on the other side of the globe.”

“Yeah but, when you’re here—”

“Nope. Not talking about this.”

“Aw, come on!”

Keith steps over Hunk, leaving him to squirm on the floor and pout some more. Stooping down, Keith grabs up his duffel bag and slings it over his shoulder.

“Debrief’s in two hours,” Keith calls over his shoulder. “Don’t be late.”

“This is why we don’t hang out more! You’re no fun!” Hunk calls after him. Keith purses his lips but says nothing more as he leaves the fitness center and makes his way towards his quarters.

It’s been a long few months.

The Altean they had recovered in the pod still hasn’t awoken—and now, a day before launch, she remains comatose in the med bay, Allura watching over her like a hawk. Keith’s had it up to here with all of the waiting around; his insides roil at the thought of hundreds of thousands of people—alien or not—still suffering under Galran rule. Still under the threat of tyranny. Still struggling in the wake of ten thousand years of war and strife. It’s not right to sit around and wait, Altean anomaly or not.

Keith smirks to himself. Pidge had mentioned something to him—something about the television program they’d made, based on the story of the paladins of Voltron. She’d mentioned that the Keith portrayed is _nice_. Smiles all the time. Is nothing like the true Keith, the one who cadets shy away from when they pass him on their way down the hallway. It’s sweet, in a way, but Keith just thinks that they’re confusing his eagerness to provide humanitarian relief efforts across the galaxy as being outgoing, and generally a bubbly person. He supposes it’s hard to convey the head of Voltron as a guy who just wants to get things done, a guy who will be as rude and brash as he needs to be to do it.

As Keith rounds the corner, he perks up at the sound of familiar voices. Specifically, he perks up at the sound of _Shiro’s_ voice—and the voice of a man he doesn’t quite recognize. But oh, wait. No. He _does_ recognize him—the engineer who works on the bridge, to Shiro’s usual place on the right. Chris? Cu...Curtis. Right, that’s his name.

Keith pauses, and ducks into a small alcove in the wall to keep himself hidden as he hears their voices approaching. They’re coming this way, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the hall.

“...some reports and numbers about the Atlas’s repair. I’ll forward it to you as soon as I’m done compiling. But Veronica will have the floor during the debriefing, I have some final system scans I need to run. I’ll be listening over the comms, though.”

“That’s fine, Curtis. I appreciate all you’ve done to get the Atlas back up to code. Truly. This wouldn’t have been possible without you and the rest of Veronica’s team.”

Keith shrinks back in the shadows as the footsteps come to a stop, just out of sight from beyond the corner of the alcove. He can just barely see the faint blue light of Shiro’s prosthetic, but nothing more.

“There’s no need to thank me, Captain. It’s an honor to work under you. _W-With_ you. Work _with_ you.”

Keith’s eyebrows lift a little. He’d know _that_ stutter anywhere. Oh-ho? One of Shiro’s bridge team has a little crush, perhaps? The thought should fill Keith with mirth, or at least a fond annoyance. It should. But it doesn’t. Instead, he feels that same, uneasy little twinge in his chest that he can’t quite put his finger on—the same twinge he felt long ago, before all of this began, back when Adam had still been in the picture. He tries to dismiss it as feelings of weirdness—because isn’t Shiro like a brother to him? Of course it’d be weird to find out a ‘brother’ is developing a romantic relationship.

Shiro laughs, cordial. “Well, the appreciation is there all the same. I’m proud of you and your team. You all are some of the best I’ve ever worked with.”

“Wow. Thank you, sir.”

“Oh, and… another thing.”

“Yes?”

“You, uh. You wouldn’t happen to have had anything to do with a certain file that crossed my desk? Something about emotional support animals on the Atlas during this mission?”

“...I’m not sure I follow,” comes the response, but Keith can hear a sly little grin in that voice. And then, Shiro is chuckling—low and rumbling.

“It was… clever. I was impressed by the wording and how gracefully you avoided the red tape. What is it you have again? Uhh—”

“Sugar gliders, sir.”

“ _Sugar gliders_. I see.” Shiro’s voice dips, suddenly teasing. “Very interesting. Their names?”

Now Curtis laughs, charmed. “Newton and Leo.”

“Leo… like Galileo?”

“Yes. Like the scientist. It’s dorky, I know.”

“No, no. It’s—those are good names. I’m glad you were able to, ah. Gain clearance for ‘emotional support’ animals. I’m sure the Holts appreciate it, too.”

“I’m always happy to bring some joy onboard the ship. If you have time in the next couple weeks, you can come meet them anytime, sir.”

“Please—when we’re not on the bridge, you can call me Shiro. I’d prefer it, actually.”

“Oh. Ah—thank you. Thank you, Shiro.”

“Of course. I have a few more reports I need to finish before the debriefing, so I’ll see you soon? And I’ll keep that in mind. About your sugar gliders.”

“Yes, sir! I mean—Shiro.”

There’s another chuckle, then the sound of a heavy flesh hand thumping on someone’s back. Keith presses himself flat against the wall as he hears the footsteps starting up again. However, Shiro never passes him—he must be going the opposite direction. Who _does_ pass him, however, is Curtis. He’s got his head down as he walks purposefully down the hall, but his hand is rubbing over his neck, he’s got a secret little smile on his face, and there is a faint glow to his cheeks. He’s blushing.

Wow.

Keith lets go of the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and unsticks himself from the wall. Worrying the inside of his cheek between his molars, he steps out of the alcove and stares down the hall, watching Curtis go until he turns the corner and he’s gone. That was… eye-opening. Keith glances over his shoulder and wonders to himself what exactly Curtis’s relationship to Shiro is. They’d talked like colleagues, of course, but… some of the warmth in Shiro’s voice is usually only kept for Keith, and—

He’s getting ahead of himself. Shaking his head, Keith takes a deep breath and sets his shoulders. Shiro deserves love—that much is true. There’s not a single person on this planet, or any planet, who deserves to find happiness more than Shiro does. By all means, he should be _overjoyed_ that Shiro is finding some leisure time for himself. After years of brutality and conflict and spilled blood, and a literal death to boot, it’s about time Shiro find something good amidst all of it.

Keith just doesn’t understand why it makes his gut feel like it’s full of ice. He touches his hand to his belly, takes another great big breath, and releases it in a long exhale. Right—he’s got to shower, or he’ll smell like stale sweat during the debrief.

He continues down the hall, and shakes off the feeling of unease with every step he takes. By the time he reaches his quarters, he’d successfully gotten over whatever _that_ had been, back there by the alcove. Before he even manages to get the door open, however, he gets a brief whiff of ozone before there’s a loud _snap_. His space wolf pops into view, immediately bowling Keith over right in the hallway and pinning him down by the shoulders to deliver, quite possibly, the _messiest_ doggy kisses in the universe. Keith yells out in alarm, but it breaks into laughter as he grabs his great wolf’s head and tries to wrestle him off. The wolf just wiggles all around him, so excited to finally see Keith after a whopping hour spent away from his quarters that he whines between breaths. His nails clack and scrape against the floor as he tries to squirm up as close to Keith as he can and get a few more licks in—likely to lap up the salty sweat dried on his cheeks.

“Okay, okay. Heeeey, boy. Down. _Down_. Hey,” Keith laughs. He grabs the space wolf by the muzzle and pulls him in to bump their noses together. Before he can get up, however, lightning bursts around him and the next thing he knows, he’s in his private bathroom, sitting cross-legged on the bath mat. 

It takes an embarrassing few seconds to realize where he is, but when he does, he lets out a snort and pats the wolf’s mane.

“Thanks, buddy.”

-*-

“Well,” Shiro says in his booming voice. It immediately draws everyone’s attention, silencing conversations around the debriefing room. Keith, of course, has already _been_ paying attention—had watched Shiro rise from the commander’s chair at the end of the table, and now watches him stand in front of everyone to deliver his debriefing. Shiro clears his throat once everyone is silent. “Thank you for coming. As you’re well aware, this is our last debriefing here on Earth, so let’s keep this short and to the point.

“We are in the final legs of this war—with the Galra empire successfully pushed back from Earth, it is time to outreach our liberation efforts beyond our galaxy to secure universal peace for all. I’d like to hear some of the latest updates from across the board—galactic observation?”

Commander Holt looks up from the documents piled up neatly in front of him. “Sendak was only after Earth—as for surrounding galaxies, there’ve been no reports of Galra occupation or activity of any kind.”

“Excellent—and global defense?”

Keith shifts in his chair—this is him. He looks up at Shiro, hands folded in his lap and his fingers tucked between his thighs. 

“Should there be another attack, Earth has the means to protect itself. I’ve checked in with Garrison bases around the world—they’re ready, if they need to be.”

“Great,” is all Shiro says, but Keith can’t help but to notice that his eyes linger just a moment longer, the tiniest curve of his lip just faintly visible from where Keith is sitting. Keith doesn’t smile, but his eyes light up a little with the small, silent recognition for his efforts. Before anyone else can notice, Shiro’s already turning to face Allura. “Anything new on the Altean recovered from the mecha?”

This draws Keith’s attention, and he turns to watch as Allura’s brow furrows in thought. It takes her a moment to answer. “She hasn’t awoken yet, but she could have valuable, indispensable information. Whether it be who sent her, or why she was sent. We need more time.”

“There _is_ no more time,” Keith says, but not harshly. He puts his elbows on the table, hands still clasped together as he leans forward. “The more time we wait, the more capable Galran forces are for another attack. I don’t think this Altean is worth running that risk.”

“Keith’s right,” Shiro agrees. “...But I hear you, Allura. We’ll give it until tomorrow morning, before launch. I’ll be sure there is a capable medical team who can relay all information back to us, even once we leave Earth’s atmosphere.”

Keith can see the relief flood into Allura’s features as she mouths “ _thank you_ ” and relaxes at Keith’s side. He gives her a reassuring smile as Shiro addresses the Atlas with Veronica. As Allura sits back in her seat, Keith catches Lance’s gaze. He looks… not quite dejected, no. Nervous? Keith cocks an eyebrow at him. Lance sticks his tongue out in return. Keith huffs at him through his nose.

“...And now, I’m ordering you—”

Keith looks back up, snapped back to attention as Shiro addresses the entire room. He’s leaned up against the table, palms laid flat on the tabletop. His gaze shifts left and right, expression severe... before softening into a small, warm smile.

“...to take some time for yourselves. Be with the ones you love. You’ve earned it.”

With that, the meeting is adjourned. Keith stays in his seat for a while as the others file out or linger; he’s not about to be caught up in the stampede to get out the door to enjoy the final few hours of free time. It’s only once the room is at half-capacity that he stands, and glances over his shoulder to watch Lance prance off after Allura and Romelle, with Hunk following close behind. He smirks a little, rolls his neck, and searches for his mother.

He finds her at the back of the room, her arms crossed as she talks quietly with Kolivan. He’s the one who notices Keith’s approach, and clears his throat with a nod as Keith comes closer. When Krolia turns, her lips curve into an easy, fond smile. She settles a hand on the center of Keith’s upper back once he’s close enough and squeezes the back of his neck.

“Good job on the global defenses.”

Keith shrugs, and twists his head back and forth until his mother’s strong grip on the back of his neck is a little more comfortable. “Just doing my job. What are you guys up to tonight?”

“There are some things left that need to be done,” Kolivan says, ever serious. Lifting his arm, he dials a few buttons on his wrist brace and brings up a holographic display that looks… like a regular checklist. Keith grimaces at it. “There are a two new Blades of Marmora recruits joining the Atlas mission who need to be given physicals before launch; Vexx and Kazzrok. As for our shuttles, there are engine turbines that need to be calibrated, fuel capacity sensors that need to be checked, manual ju—”

As Kolivan lists off a million different things, Krolia gives him a flat look and leans down closer to Keith’s ear. She murmurs, “Unless you’d like to spend your last few hours on Earth being barked at, you should go.”

Keith’s brows furrow. But Shiro had said spend time with the people he loves, so—

“...adjust radio frequency to nine point two six seven. Seven. Seven. Seven—”

“You know what? You’re right,” Keith agrees immediately. Krolia huffs a laugh through her nose and crosses her arms as Keith ducks out of his mother’s hold, turns tail, and runs.

“Don’t forget to take Kosmo!” she calls after him. “And have a good time with Shiro.”

Well. Keith doesn’t know what _that_ means, but he’s not about to pause to let Kolivan grab him by the scruff of the neck and force him into boring work on any engines or turbines or calibrations. As he makes a beeline for the door, he happens to catch Shiro’s eyes—he’s looking at him over the shoulder of the officer he’s talking to. Just... looking. Keith lifts a hand to wave as he hurries by; one, subtle wave. 

Shiro smiles.

When Keith is free from the debriefing room and, with a little help from the space wolf, he’s free from the Garrison entirely, and well on his way to the Black Lion. By the time he boards and heads out, the sun is already beginning to set. He knows the perfect place to go, perfectly alone, and impossible to find for most people.

Or so he thinks.

He’s about twenty minutes into his sunset viewing when he hears what sounds like a robotic legion of buckets stalking up behind him. Keith doesn’t even look—anyone with _that_ clumsy of a footfall is no threat to him. He just keeps his hand buried in the space wolf’s mane, petting him over and over as he stares out lazily over the canyon stretched out below them. The view from the top of the head of the Black Lion is unlike anything he’s ever seen; it reminds Keith of old times. Old times, with Shiro.

But it’s not Shiro who turns up at the top of the Black Lion somehow, it’s Lance. And when Keith turns to look at him approaching, his eyes bug out of his head and his jaw drops at the sight of the Blue Paladin covered from head to two in various metal objects, from buckets to tin cans to… whatever those are. Lance gives Keith a look as Keith just gapes at him.

“Uh. Hey,” he manages. Lance holds up a finger.

“Not. A word.”

And then he flops to the top of the lion head with a metallic clatter, groaning as he pulls the bucket off of his head.

“All I can say is… whoa,” Keith snorts. He hitches one of his knees up so he can rest his elbow on it, a little smirk on his lips. “New fashion statement, huh?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “ _No_. Coran made it.”

“That explains a few things.”

“It’s for my date,” Lance clarifies. He purses his lips and drums his fingers on the side of the bucket where he’s leaning his arm. He glances over at Keith and—well, normally he’d be giving him a cocky smirk or a tilt of his head. Or, god forbid, _finger guns_. But instead, he looks almost… bashful. “...With Allura.”

“Allura?” Keith echoes. His smirk grows into a true smile, and he reaches over to punch Lance gently in the upper arm. “Look at you. Nice.”

“Well. I guess I decided that I waited long enough,” Lance sighs. He looks out at the sunset and takes off a tin can pauldron from his shoulder. “But now I’m wondering if I waited too long.”

“How’s that?”

“Well. It’s our last night on Earth, you know? Last night to do stuff like this until we have to get to work,” Lance explains. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing at chapped skin as he tap, tap, taps the overturned bucket with a finger. “Keep thinking that, like. I should’ve done this sooner.”

“Well. There’s no time like the present, yeah? Just enjoy the time you have.”

“I guess… I dunno. This Altean custom or… whatever it is, I don’t know. Maybe this wasn’t—”

“Look,” Keith interrupts him. He tries to catch his eyes, but Lance keeps looking down at the tin can he keeps rolling in his hand. “She wouldn’t just say yes for no reason. She _likes_ you. The… whole… idiot loverboy from Earth, and all.”

Lance laughs and shakes his head. “Right. Thanks.”

Even as he says it, he still looks self-conscious. Keith mulls it over for a moment, rubbing his thumb over his own knuckles and tipping his head to the side in thought. He looks down at the velcro straps of his boots. 

“Lance. Who you were doesn’t define you. The stuff we’ve done—all the fighting, the growing, and becoming a team. It meant something. You’re the paladin of the Red Lion. And you’ve got a lot to offer. I should know.”

This time, Lance looks up at him, and there’s a moment of raw vulnerability in his eyes before his face breaks into a smile. He holds up his fist, and Keith holds up his. They bump their knuckles together, just once.

“Thanks, man. You’ve always got my back,” Lance says. Keith shakes his head.

“No. You’ve got mine.”

“Maybe I should’ve just stayed at the Garrison, because—wow. I hate to interrupt this.”

A new voice joins them, enough to make both Keith and Lance jump to turn and look. And sure enough, it’s Shiro, standing there looking a little sheepish, with a little plastic box gripped in both of his hands. His commander’s jacket is off for once; casual clothes look good on him, even if the top half is a casual black t-shirt, and the bottom half are the same formal grey slacks from his uniform. It clashes, but it’s endearing, and Keith finds himself grinning before he can help himself.

“Hey. Come and sit, the sun’s about to set.”

“Oh. Nope, no. Nuh uh. I have to head back,” Lance says, entirely too abruptly. Keith blinks, watching as Lance hurriedly gathers up his tincan pauldrons and that bucket helmet. For whatever stupid reason, he puts them all back on and stands there with his hands on his hips like he’s the hero of his own show. “You guys—you guys, have a good time together, yeah?”

“Are you sure, Lance? You can stay.”

Lance purses his lips, lets out a scoff. “And get third-wheeled? No way. I’m going on my date.”

Before Shiro or Keith can protest, Lance is waddling away towards the back of the Lion head to get through the hatch and make his way down to ground level. In the meantime, Shiro and Keith just glance at each other before they both simultaneously break off into chuckles. Scooting a little closer to the space wolf, Keith lets Shiro sit down beside him with a small, soft groan.

“Aching knees, old timer?” Keith quips. He looks out at the sunset. Shiro huffs, appalled. 

“ _No_.”

“Whatever you say,” Keith mutters. There’s still a little half-grin on his face. “Shouldn’t you be following your own orders and relaxing?”

“This _is_ relaxing. And, I knew you’d be out here.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course. This is the spot, isn’t it? After our hoverbike trip.”

Keith blinks, turns back to Shiro with a face stuck somewhere between surprised and elation. “You remember that?”

“Of course. It’s one of the few times in my turbulent, _exciting_ whirlwind of a life where I can look back at a memory fondly,” Shiro deadpans. Keith stares at him as Shiro opens the container to start digging around inside. Shiro only notices his eyes on him when he looks up and grimaces. “Too much?”

“...You’re always too much.”

Shiro’s shoulders shake as he laughs and pulls out half a sandwich, cut into a triangle. No crusts. “It’s… uh. Spam. I think.”

“Gross.”

“It’s not that bad. The bread is fresh—Hunk’s family made it. Here, try it.”

Begrudgingly, Keith takes it and makes a face at it as he flips it over and over in his hand. He sniffs it before tentatively taking a tiny little bite between his front teeth. It’s immediately too much; too salty, too textured. He almost spits it out, but he’s not about to waste food.

“That bad, huh?” Shiro asks. He takes a big bite of his own and, when he makes a face just as disgusted as Keith feels right now, he can’t help but to burst into laughter that rings out across the canyon.

“You’re used to food goo and whatever alien meat and produce Hunk can get his hands on at the market, huh? Actual Earth food starts coming back into circulation, and we don’t know what to do with ourselves,” Keith snorts. He shakes his head and plugs his nose as he takes another bite of sandwich. It doesn’t help much, but he manages to choke it down.

“Weird, huh?” Shiro muses. His eyes soften, and he gazes at the bite mark on his Spam sandwich like he’s just made friends with it. “You spend so long away from Earth, it’s like you don’t even belong there anymore.”

The mood dips, then, and the both of them fall silent as the sun sinks lower and lower into the horizon. Tapping his finger on his sandwich, Keith tries to think of something, anything to say.

“Sorry,” Shiro ends up speaking first. He’s still smiling, but it’s sad. “I’m always bringing the mood down, aren’t I?”

Keith’s head snaps up. “What? No. You’re not, Shiro. It’s fine.”

“Mm,” Shiro hums. He shakes his head. “Well, nevermind. Lance is going on a date, huh? With who?”

“Who else has he been in love with since the moment he met her?”

“She said yes?” Shiro asks. He almost sounds surprised, but then his face splits into a genuine smile. Keith watches him, the oranges and reds of the sunset dying his silver hair a radiant gold. It highlights his cheekbones, makes his teeth glint in the waning sun. Keith could look forever, he thinks, but he doesn’t understand exactly why he feels that way. Shiro shakes his head, and takes a big bite out of his sandwich, almost celebratory. “Good for him. He’s come a long way. He’s a good guy. Big heart.”

“Big head, if you ask me,” Keith mutters. Shiro snorts loud enough to almost spew sandwich out into the canyon. Still laughing, he holds his hand in front of his mouth to speak.

“You two were _just_ making friends up here,” he says, muffled. He swallows. “What happened to that?”

“I’m not going to show you me being soft on _Lance_.”

Shiro snickers and licks at a spot on between his front and canine teeth, trying to suck a bit of bread out from between them. Keith, meanwhile, picks the meat out of his sandwich and just eats the cheese and bread. He’ll just find some food goo later, to make up for the protein loss. The space wolf gets the Spam, and he’s all about it until he actually gets a taste of it and spits it back out between his paws to sniff and lick curiously at it, as if it’ll get better with time.

“How are you feeling?” Shiro asks suddenly, drawing Keith’s attention from the wolf’s antics. Keith blinks and shifts to sit cross-legged, half hunched over with his elbows on his knees.

“What do you mean?”

“How’s your leg? Your head?”

Keith hums and squeezes at his left leg, which had previously been broken in multiple places, following the crash of the Black Lion. Alien technology had aided in the healing process, but it had been a long few weeks of physical therapy to get himself walking right again, and another two months before he was back in the physical condition he’d been in before. As for his head, well—the gash had been nothing to sniff at, but again, advanced human and alien technology had made the recovery process at least bearable. Lack of access to magic Altean healing pods had kind of sucked. He’d been able to see properly out of his left eye again maybe a month and a half after being released from the hospital.

“Still good,” Keith finally answers. “My leg doesn’t really bother me anymore, but you know that. Why? You having some aches and pains?”

“Not really. Just the usual. I was just checking on you.”

“Oh. Okay. I’m fine.”

They return to comfortable silence, with Shiro slowly eating the rest of his sandwich before he reveals that he’s brought some of Hunk’s cookies with him, too. They each take one and split another cookie in half to share between themselves, and the fourth cookie goes to the space wolf, because he won’t quit whining.The sun is sinking lower and lower, and the orange and yellow hues strewn across the desert sky turn to red and purple, and eventually to the dull grey of twilight.

“I’m going to miss this,” Shiro murmurs. Keith glances towards him, watching the way his forelock flutters against his forehead with the soft desert breeze. Something deep inside of him hitches, like a hiccup almost, and he wonders for a moment if he’s going to throw up all over the place.

“That’s why we have to win this,” Keith murmurs. When Shiro turns to meet his gaze, he feels his insides hitch again. He ignores it and presses on. “So we can come back here again. So this isn’t our— _the_ last sunset.”

Shiro just looks at him, then, brows furrowed, and the eye contact is so intense that eventually Keith is forced to look away, and back down at the half cookie he’s still picking at. The space wolf sniffs at it, tongue sticking out, trying to snatch it from him. He whines, and that’s all it takes. Keith hand-feeds it to him like he’s just a puppy all over again. Because that’s what he is anyway, isn’t he? Just a big puppy. 

He tells the wolf this much as he rubs and scritches at his chest.

“Has he told you his name yet?” Shiro asks. Keith snorts and shakes his head.

“Nah. I’m wondering if he just likes Kosmo, because honestly, he’s been answering to that name. I don’t think I have the energy to argue with the others about it anymore.”

“Think he’ll tell you eventually, though?”

“Who knows?”

Keith gets lost in his wolf for a while, grinning as he rubs his belly and scratches his hulking chest. Static electricity zips through Kosmo’s fur, lighting it up like his coat is its own thunderstorm. It’s cool, but not when he zaps Keith during dry nights in his bunk. He’s so busy with the wolf that he doesn’t really realize Shiro is staring at the back of his head until he can feel it. Slowing his petting, Keith glances over his shoulder to see Shiro’s face, full of conflict and maybe a little remorse.

“Shiro? What’s up?”

“Keith,” Shiro sighs. He looks away so he can instead look up at the night sky, rapidly darkening to make way for millions of stars. “There’s stuff we should probably talk about. Important things that we’ve kept quiet about for a long time. I know you, you know me. We share one big thing in common, and that’s… the way we handle things that are hard to talk about. Similar in that… we _don’t_ deal with it. You have a hard time articulating what you’re feeling, I… cram it all down. Until the job is done.

“But the thing is, the job is _never_ done. And the longer I wait to talk about these things with you, the more risk I take with… not having the chance to talk to you about these things again. Ever.”

Keith stares at Shiro, hand still buried in the space wolf’s thick neck fur. He squirms on his back, trying to coax Keith into more scratches. He complies, but only absentmindedly. 

“So? Let’s talk about them,” Keith says. His heart feels like it’s rising up through his throat, like he wants to puke it out. Anxiety creeps up his back like thousands of tiny needles, sending shivers down his spine and giving his body a dose of adrenaline he doesn’t need. Fight or flight, he thinks to himself, as he tries to force himself to relax. “What things do you want to talk about?”

“There’s way too much to unpack in a night,” Shiro laughs. When he looks at Keith, his smile is kind. “...And I know you’re anxious right now. I promise, what we need to talk about isn’t anything bad. Or—well, it might be. It’s about everything that’s happened.”

“...The cloning facility?” Keith asks. He pauses and makes a face. “My… scar?”

“More, Keith,” Shiro says. “That, and what happened after it. And before. There’s a lot we need to talk about, and we should probably start with the Kerberos launch.”

“...That _is_ a lot to unpack.”

“Yeah. Not much we can do in a night. But over time, yes. I just— _we_ just. Need to. You understand?”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but… look,” Keith sighs. He looks down at the space wolf and busies himself with rubbing his belly. The wolf’s tongue lolls out in his bliss, hind leg kicking at the empty air. Keith runs his tongue over his teeth, trying to think clearly. “It’s like you said. There’s a lot of work to be done. And there’s not a lot of time. We don’t have the luxury of long conversations and emotion right now.”

“Don’t I know it,” Shiro laughs, grim.

Keith turns back to him. “But if it’s what you want, or what you think we need? I’m all in, Shiro.”

“I know you are,” Shiro murmurs. His eyes are even softer now, reflecting dappled starlight. His silver eyelashes almost glow in the starlight, like Shiro had been born of the stars themselves. In his eyes, Keith sees galaxies, and between his teeth, the stars.

“So. We just have to stay alive until then,” Keith says. Shiro’s cheeks puff out for a split second before he bursts into laughter and tips his head up towards the night sky. 

“ _Well_. I’ve already got one death under my belt, so I’m better prepared than most. Two deaths, if you count the transfer into the clone body.”

Keith’s going to be sick. “I don’t want to talk about you dying ever again.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Shiro’s still chuckling and holding his left pec as he does. “I’ll stop.”

“Actually,” Keith starts. He worries his lip between his teeth. “Speaking of that. I want to unpack one thing, now.”

“What’s that?”

Shiro is instantly serious again, like he senses Keith’s genuine distress. It’s both funny and sweet at the same time. Either way, it puts Keith at ease.

“Your… disease…” Keith trails off. He pulls at a loose thread on the seam of his pants. “Is that still—is it still a…?”

“Keith. Look at me.”

That makes Keith give a little tremble. He feels young and vulnerable all over again, like the day he’d found out about Shiro’s disease in the first place. Gripping the hem of his jacket, Keith stares hard at Shiro, his lips pressed into a tight line. Shiro only meets him with a warm smile, just like he always has. 

“It’s gone. Without a trace. It’s funny, because I think the muscle I was forced to build during my imprisonment with the Galra, and then the fitness regimen I forced _myself_ to follow while we were all paladins of Voltron—in an… odd, roundabout way, it kept me going until… you know. I think the disease was wiped out with me. And the clone body doesn’t have it. I’m okay, Keith. I’ll be okay.”

Keith almost chokes on his next breath, but he manages to catch himself before it tumbles out of him. He takes a deep breath through his nose and releases it through his mouth, forcibly willing away the prickling at the backs of his eyes. Clamping his lips back together, he gives Shiro a single nod.

“Good. That’s… that’s good.”

“It’s _great_. It means I get to spend my time with everyone, and less time wondering when I’ll… yeah. We don’t have to talk about that.”

“Thanks.”

With that, Shiro gives him one last smile and shifts to stand. Keith blinks up at him, confused, and starts to move to stand, too.

“Where are you going?” he asks. It sounds almost defensive in his own ears. He immediately wishes he could take it back, but Shiro only lets out a soft little laugh and rubs his prosthetic hand up and down his flesh arm. 

“Desert’s chilly at night. I should’ve brought a jacket.”

Keith is already standing and shrugging out of his jacket, even as Shiro speaks, but it only makes Shiro laugh harder as he hurries forward, grabs the lapels of Keith’s jacket, and tugs it back into place.

“First of all, we’re not taking shifts with cold weather. Secondly, and I’m sorry, but I would _never_ be able to fit into your clothing.”

“Just to drape over your shoulders, though,” Keith tries. Shiro throws his head back and laughs again. The mirth looks good on him. Makes his cheeks rosy, and his eyes shiny. Keith smirks up at him in return. 

“I was actually thinking we should head _back_ so we can get some real rest before launch tomorrow.”

Keith sighs but, ultimately, nods. “You’re right.”

There’s a moment, then—a somewhat awkward pause, like something else is supposed to happen here. Something to complete the night. But Keith doesn’t know what it is, and it doesn’t look like Shiro knows, either. They stand there together for a long moment, the stars their only backdrop, and the desert breeze in their hair. Behind Keith, the space wolf stands, shakes himself off, and trots up between Keith and Shiro, snuffling at their thighs and the bottoms of their shirts to sniff for cookie crumbs. 

The tension breaks, and Keith grins as he leans down to ruffle the wolf’s fur and scratch behind his ears. He shakes himself off again, sending up little blips of static electricity in to the air. 

“Did you take a shuttle here? You can load it up into the Black Lion, I’ll give you a ride back,” Keith offers. Shiro visibly perks.

“That—that sounds nice, actually. It’s been a while since I’ve had a reason to ride with her. You don’t mind?”

“Of course not. Black?”

The Black Lion shifts, then, moving to crouch down low to let her passengers off, then stays hunched low so they can load Shiro’s shuttle car into the cargo bay in her flank. As they make their way to Shiro’s shuttle, Keith smiles and nudges Shiro’s side with his elbow.

“How do you think Lance and Allura’s date is going?”

-*-

Keith has never been a fan of large crowds, and he’s definitely never been a fan of standing in front of them. He squints against the harsh light upon him as they stand before hundreds of people, all waiting for the official launch day address. His mother and Kolivan are standing near the front row and, in many ways, it comforts the anxiety he feels being pushed out into the public eye like this. There are cameras on them, too—drones that fly overhead, broadcasting their launch to the rest of the world. Tensed, Keith stands at attention, and tries to calm his nerves by slowly counting backwards from one hundred in his head.

Commander Holt is the first to speak and, though he’s listening, it all goes in one ear and out the other as Keith stares straight ahead, out over the crowd. Something about defining moments, something about making history. Something about being very, very small, which Keith can relate to right now. He balls his fists up at his sides.

But when it’s his turn to speak, Keith takes one bold step forward, and he holds his chin high.

“From here on out, we know that nothing will ever be the same. That none of the truths we have learned over our short time here in this universe are set in stone, and that there are larger forces at play,” Keith says. His voice carries and echoes over the massive crowd. Though he’s shaking, neither his heart nor his voice waver in their words. “It’s time to take up arms, to do our part in defending _our_ home, and the countless lives living _beyond_ our home. It’s time to stand tall, and rise up against tyranny and injustice.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see Krolia and Kolivan smiling up at him. Proud. When his bit is over, he steps back and lets Allura take his place. Once more, the words ring in his ears, and he’s unable to register them. He wants to get off the stage, immediately, but he continues to stand tall, despite it. This is important.

He closes his eyes, briefly, until Shiro starts to speak. And just like that, Keith hears his words crystal clear, like a guiding eclipse to secure him, to take him out of the blinding light and obscure him from the glaring sun. In Shiro’s shadow, calmness washes over Keith like a soothing balm, and he feels his heart calm and stop fluttering in his chest like a bird.

“...I make you this promise now,” Shiro’s voice booms over the crowd. “We will return. Triumphant.”


	2. Starlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this fic is almost entirely from Keith's POV, I've taken liberties on the episodes that were pretty much just 24 minutes of exposition that really don't need to be re-hashed, rewritten, or changed. So just assume all that stuff that happened in episode 2 still happened. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> \--[elle](https://twitter.com/weavelle)

There’s a painfully small amount of things to actually do on the Atlas while they’re in deep space. Long swaths of time hang heavily between every planet they liberate—sometimes as long as a week. Every single encounter with hostile forces raises new threats to the surface. Every debriefing after a successful attempt at liberation comes with a long sigh of relief. _No casualties. No casualties. Minimal damage. No casualties._ Keith is still waiting to hear that they’ve lost someone on the crew—one of the rebel team, or one of the MFEs. It’s a breath of fresh air, whenever the announcement comes that no one has been sacrificed in the name securing the freedom of the universe.

But Keith would still do it in a heartbeat himself, if it meant protecting everything he held dear.

In the meantime, well.

“Look,” Keith sighs. “I just don’t think I get it.”

He looks up, sort of helpless, as Coran puts his head in his hand. His eye has been twitching for the better part of the past hour; he’s trying and failing again and _again_ to teach Keith how the game works. It’s… a learning process. And a sharper bell curve than learning how to pilot the Red Lion, in Keith’s opinion. There’s too many seemingly pointless rules.

“You’re telling me that I have limited points for these stats.”

“Yes.”

“But it’s--it’s _me_. I have an _equal_ amount of strength and stamina. And they’re both high.”

“Keith. It’s _not_ you.”

“I designed him this way. I know who I am. There’s no one I know better than myself.”

Coran’s eye twitches again. Keith can hear the creak of his jaw as he grinds it, and he can feel the electricity in the air as Coran shakily points a finger at the datapad Keith holds in his hands.

“The whole _point_ ,” Coran wheezes. “Is to not. Play. _Yourself_.”

“I can’t think of anything more fulfilling than--”

“Ohh! Monsters and Mana! Are we playing? I wanna play!” 

Coran and Keith look up as Pidge arrives, all smiles and toothy grins and hurried steps. She rushes to the dining table where they’re currently set up in the mess hall. Nearby, Rizavi and Leifsdottir chat quietly to themselves over bowls of chili--space chili? And on the opposite side of the mess hall sits Curtis from the bridge team, hunched over a datapad and scratching at the stubble on his chin. There’s a couple other crew members around as well--men and women Keith hasn’t had the chance to meet properly yet, but he knows their names at least.

“No. We’re _not_ playing. Keith has yet to finish designing his character. He’s spent so long trying to figure out a name, I made him move on to his stats.”

Barking a laugh, Pidge parks herself next to Keith on the bench, leaning into his space and reading over his shoulder to see what he’s got. It must be pretty impressive, because Pidge whistles.

“Welp. Coran, it was nice knowing you,” Pidge says. She sticks her hand out, reaching around Keith to try and touch Coran, but he hugs himself tight and leans away like her hand personally offends him.

“Now wait just a tic! Keith may be a little slow on the uptake, but as my dear old Poppop once said, tenacity in the face of—“

“Wait, I can _fail_ a dice roll?” Keith asks aloud. He squints at the datapad, dubious. “That’s not realistic. If I fail to cut a door down, I’ll just blast it open.”

Pidge throws her head back and howls with laughter as Coran grips the table hard enough for his nails to practically bend the metal. He sucks in a breath through puckered lips and gritted teeth, eyes wild and almost bugging out of his head.

“Those. Are. The. _RULES!_ ”

“It’s just not realistic. I’m not buying it.”

“What are you guys doing to poor Coran over here?” 

Coran stops his existential crisis long enough to join Keith and Pidge in looking up at Rizavi, who stands over them with one leg hitched up on the bench and her hands on her hips. Leifsdottir leans over, trying to catch a glimpse at the datapad. 

“Oh my gosh, Nadia, you _have_ to try this game,” Pidge gushes. “It’s called Monsters and Mana, it’s so cool, and it’s like… this Altean game, and it’s _awesome_. It’s _just_ like tabletop games from back home.”

“You had me at _monsters_. It’s about time something fun and exciting happened around here. How do we play?” 

Rizavi swings a leg over the bench and flops down hard enough to rattle the whole table. Leifsdottir joins, a little less enthusiastically, but she’s still peering at the datapad. No longer interested, Keith welcomes the chance to hand his datapad away, much to Coran’s chagrin. Leifsdottir touches one finger to her lips as she scans over Keith’s character profile.

“Mm… if you remove one point from the Charisma stat and apply it instead to your Stamina stat, you will be able to balance out the ratio while maintaining a high enough Charisma stat to meet standards for basic Charisma checks.”

“Yeah… sure,” Keith drawls. He gives a dismissive wave of his hand, but at this point he’s only doing it because Coran is absolutely losing his _mind_ to the side of him. Pidge, meanwhile, wriggles in her seat with glee. 

“You can create these super deep and interesting characters. Like mine, my old character’s name is Meclavar, and he was a dwarf, an axe-warrior—“

“Ooooh.” Rizavi slaps her hands over her cheeks. “Ina. Ina! Give me the datapad! Let me make my character!”

“I am editing Keith’s character to best streamline his statistics so that he may plausibly pass every check roll he may encounter.”

“Y-Y-Y-You can’t just _do_ that!” Coran wails. He puts his hands in his hair and yanks at it. “It’s not right! It’s _cheating!_ ”

“It is not cheating,” Leifsdottir says. She doesn’t even spare Coran a glance, and instead continues to fiddle with the datapad. “—if I am simply being proactive in threat reduction.”

_“You are desecrating sacred ground!”_

Rizavi punches her palm. “So when do we get to the good stuff where we kick some freaky monster butt?”

“Not for a while. When we made our characters, me and Hunk spent _three vargas_ working on it,” Pidge says, like it’s something to be proud of. Keith starts to move, planting his hands on the table and standing partway. Coran, however, grabs his arm and grips him with a titanic strength that has Keith blinking down at him. Coran’s eyes flash dangerously.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Keith tries and fails not to look nervous, laughing a little as he looks around for someone, _anyone_ , to rescue him. But no one seems to be looking, and no one comes to his rescue. He’s just starting to sit down again and accept his fate when there’s a pinging noise from across the mess hall, and a surprised voice.

“...Oh!”

All heads at the impromptu Monsters and Mana club meeting turn to look at Curtis, who has a pager cupped in his hand. He looks up and stands, gathering his things as he looks right at Keith.

“Ah, Keith? Captain Shirogane wants to see us on the bridge.”

...What? 

Keith blinks, confused. Coran’s so surprised that he releases Keith, giving him just enough time to slip away from the table and sort of half-stumble up to Curtis, who just smiles and gives him a secret wink.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your… ehm. Game?” Curtis says, with words that _sound_ polite and apologetic and a tone that totally _doesn’t_. Coran heaves a sigh.

“Fine—but you’re going to create your character, Number Four! Sometime!”

“Yeah… sure,” Keith says, and hurries to follow Curtis out of the mess hall and around the corner. The moment they’re alone and walking side by side, Keith looks at him. Curtis just keeps walking, smiling to himself. 

“Do you think they bought it?” he asks slyly, lightly elbowing Keith’s side. He looks down at him with a toothy grin. “You looked like you needed some help.”

“Whoa. W-Wait—“ Keith sputters. “Wait, so… Shiro _doesn’t_ need us?”

“Truthfully, he paged me about five minutes ago, asking if I had these reports done and if I could give him a rundown of them. I told him to give me ten, but your situation seemed dire.”

“Wow,” Keith snorts. He shakes his head at the goofy grin Curtis gives him. “Thanks, then. Uhh… Curtis, right?”

“That’s me.”

Keith falls silent after that, looking off to the side. He feels a little awkward as he roots around in his head to find something, anything to talk about. Why is he even continuing to walk with Curtis towards the bridge? It seems a little silly when he thinks about it; Shiro doesn’t need him, he needs Curtis.

Oh.

His lips pinch together a little tighter at that thought for whatever reason. He feels his guts clench a little, and a hot feeling rush up his spine. And… well, the feeling that he needs to continue along with Curtis, to go see Shiro, too.

“So. Uhh…” Keith trails off. Curtis tilts his head at him. “You, uh. Do a lot of reports, huh?”

“Oh. Yeah. I do a lot of the reports on takeoff data and fuel ratio and… you know. Technical stuff. It’s not really glamorous, but Shiro says the best we can be is _prepared, educated, and vigilant_ ,” Curtis rattles off, mocking the low timbre of Shiro’s voice and putting a fake stern look on his face. It’s… a shockingly good impression, actually.

“That sounds like him, alright,” Keith says, even though his mind catches on Curtis using Shiro’s nickname and lingers there, uneasy. And he should really let it go, and not let it rub him the wrong way like it does, but he can’t help himself. “‘Shiro’, huh? Gettin’ in good with the captain of the Atlas?”

That’s _not_ what he wanted to say. Suddenly, it feels like he’d just insinuated something, _assumed_ something, and he can tell Curtis knows it, too, because he gives him a puzzled look.

“What do you mean?” Curtis asks. Keith shakes his head and waves his hand.

“Uh--no, nothing. Nothing. I meant that you two just seem pretty close.”

_That’s even worse, idiot._

“I’m not. Saying. Anything, here,” Keith stammers. He slaps his forehead. “Sorry, I’m--”

“No, no,” Curtis laughs. He pats Keith’s shoulder. “It’s alright. I know what you meant. The captain and I speak regularly, but we’re not… particularly close. Ah--I know how it must look. He’s just very kind, and puts us before his title or his position, and--well, he’s just an amazing man. But that--I guess… that doesn’t really explain why. Uh.”

Now they’re both pointedly looking away from each other, and Keith continues to war with the rising heat in his cheeks and the twitch of his trigger finger. He balls his fists at his sides and takes a deep breath. It’s fine. _Be professional._

“Shiro is definitely very personable. It’s good to have a working bond with your crew. I mean, I should know. Right?”

“Right…” Curtis trails off. The easy smile returns to his face, then, and the tension dissipates. “Yes. It’s an honor to work at his side.”

By the time they’re done talking, they’re at the door into the cockpit of the Atlas, and standing there awkwardly side by side. They just… stare at the door together, not really knowing what to say or do next.

“Well. I better actually deliver these reports to him,” Curtis says. He waves the datapad at Keith and flashes him a smile. But even as he reaches for the panel to open the doors, Keith continues to stand there, uncomfortable, without saying a word.

When the doors open, Shiro’s at his usual place at the helm, leaning over his console and staring out into the infinite void of space. None of the other crew members are there right now; he’s alone, the Atlas temporarily set to autopilot. But as Curtis walks inside, Shiro straightens and turns, immediately smiling when he sees him and…

The doors are sliding shut in Keith’s face, and there’s a flare of emotion inside of him, a lurching sensation. He catches himself before he can stumble into the room, and instead watches as Curtis steps up onto the podium beside Shiro with the datapad outstretched towards him.

Just before the door closes, Shiro glances up and notices Keith standing there.

“Whoa!”

It happens in a blink of an eye; Keith had been prepared for the doors to just shut and lock into place right before his eyes, blocking him from Shiro and cutting him off. But at the final moment, Shiro’s prosthetic arm zooms across the room, catching the door with his fingers. The door jams right before it shuts all the way, and Keith blinks as he sees four metal fingers waving at him through the tiny crack of the door.

“Ouch. My poor fingers,” Shiro jokes as the automatic sensors on the door make them slide open again. He smiles as his hand slowly retracts to its normal place beside him. “Keith! Good to see you. I was about to page you anyway, why don’t you come in?”

Just like that, the brief spike of anxiety dissipates and Keith feels his shoulders relaxing. An easy grin lights up his face, but he tries to play it off by shoving his hands into the pockets of his uniform and sauntering forward.

“Keith and I walked here together, actually,” Curtis points out. Shiro cocks an eyebrow at him, prosthetic hand naturally rising to settle on Keith’s shoulder the moment he steps onto the podium. The weight of it is a comfort, and settles the final sliver of anxiety that Keith had felt. 

“Why’s that?” Shiro asks. Curtis snorts.

“I rescued him from some game they were playing. Uh, Monsters and Magic? Was that it?”

“Mana,” Keith corrects. 

“Yeah, that.”

“Thank you, by the way.”

“ _Saved_ you? Keith, _you don’t understand_ , that game is great, and a great team building exercise, and _great_ for problem solving--”

“With all due respect, sir,” Curtis starts, and it doesn’t sound respectful at all. He smirks. “I think Keith’s better at problem solving with the ‘speak softly, carry a big stick’ method.”

Shiro barks a laugh. “That might be true, at first glance. Keith, you’d like it if you gave it a chance. I promise.”

The prosthetic on his shoulder squeezes him tight as Keith crosses his arms and nods to Curtis.

“No, no. I think _he’s_ got it right. I _like_ my method of problem solving.”

“Alright. Sure, Keith, whatever you say,” Shiro scoffs. He rolls his eyes at Curtis, who laughs into his fist. “We used to play chess and a couple other things, back before I launched for Kerberos. Me and him.”

Curtis’s eyes twinkle and he smiles, leaning easily against Shiro’s console like he belongs there. Keith notices it, sure, but he’s the one with Shiro’s hand on his shoulder, so he takes it as a small triumph. He doesn’t get _why_ , but he does, nonetheless.

“Uh-huh. How’d that go?”

“I flipped the chess board once,” Keith deadpans. Shiro lifts one of his prosthetic fingers, inadvertently pulling Keith almost flush against his side as he waves his finger.

“ _One_ time. Only once.”

“Considering the amount of times _I’ve_ flipped any board game is firmly at _zero_ , I still think Keith is the anomaly here,” Curtis quips. There’s no malice to his voice, only playfulness, written in the crinkle of his nose and the mischievous glitter in his eyes. Keith kinda likes this guy.

“Hey,” he says. “ _Shiro_ was annoying. He’d always make me think I was winning, then sneak up on me and steal checkmate without me even knowing it was happening.”

“Oh,” Curtis throws his head back and laughs. “Yeah, I can see that.”

Shiro wrinkles his nose. “It’s just basic chess strategy to set yourself up before your opponent realizes.”

“That’s what made you so _annoying!_ ”

Curtis’s eyes squeeze shut as he laughs, gripping the front of his shirt for support. Shiro joins him and, eventually, so does Keith, his heart feeling much lighter now. Shiro pulls him closer, close enough to feel the humming vibration in the air around the glowing port of his prosthetic arm. As his laughter fades, Keith smiles to himself, and allows himself to lean just a little into the blazing warmth of Shiro’s side.

“Well,” Curtis says. He waves his datapad. “I hate to cut this short, but I’ve got some reports I have to run down a couple decks. Mind reading over these and we can go over them later today, Captain?”

As Curtis holds out the datapad, Shiro takes it with his free hand and pulls himself from Keith’s shoulders. He shifts, settling his prosthetic hand over the top of Keith’s back, instead. Keith leans closer--just so he can look at the datapad with Shiro. No other ulterior motive. 

“Yes, of course. Thank you.”

“Excellent. I’ll talk to you later.”

With that, Curtis puts his hand up in a mock-salute, which makes Shiro laugh and reach out to gently bat at his stuck-out elbow. Curtis leaves, then, snickering and shaking his head. As soon as the doors slide shut behind him, Keith feels the weight of being alone with Shiro settle over him, but he makes no move to detach himself or remove himself from underneath Shiro’s hand. Especially now, as Shiro’s prosthetic moves idly in slow circles, rubbing Keith’s back unconsciously as Shiro scrolls through the information on the datapad. As if it’ll break the calm that has washed over them, Keith holds his breath and stays perfectly still.

“Keith?” Shiro asks. The rubbing stops. “You seem… tense. Everything okay?”

“Huh? Yeah.”

Shiro removes his hand from Keith’s back, finally, and Keith mourns the loss. He doesn’t show it, instead taking a step away and crossing his arms. 

“I didn’t know you and Curtis knew each other so well. He seems pretty comfortable with you,” Keith mentions. He hopes it doesn’t sound too defensive. Shiro doesn’t seem to notice, still too busy scrolling down the datapad. When he’s concentrating, a little crease appears in the center of his forehead. His right eyebrow cocks; it’s always his right eyebrow. Keith watches the minute changes in Shiro’s expression, shifting from stumped, to understanding, to stumped again. Something bubbles up in him; the same feeling he’d gotten with the space wolf when he’d just been a puppy.

“Curtis? Yeah, he’s a friend. Good guy,” Shiro hums. He’s still distracted. Frowning, Keith crosses his arms and leans against the console, looking off to the side and into the darkness of space. Starlight shimmers over his cheekbones, and sends little pinpricks of light across the cockpit. It’s quiet, save for the comforting hum of their fortress all around them. It’s peaceful.

“How’d you two meet?” Keith asks in an exhale. He hadn’t meant to ask, but it comes out anyway. Simple, easy. It should always be easy to talk to Shiro. They’re best friends. Like brothers.

Keith fists his sleeves in his hands.

“Oh. Uh,” Shiro starts. He clicks off the datapad and scratches at his chin in thought. “While you were still recovering in the hospital, I stopped down in the cafeteria to get some coffee right before visiting you. Curtis was there. And I mean… obviously I knew him already, he works with me on the bridge. But we didn’t really have a personal relationship or anything.”

Keith’s hand closes on the inside of his elbow, squeezing. His face remains impassive. “Uh-huh.”

“Well anyway, Curtis was there, microwaving something. And behind us, some guy comes in, and he’s talking loudly on his communicator about how he thinks he ‘scored’ with one of the nurses. And me and Curtis, we both let out this scoff, at the same exact time. We looked right at each other, and we just knew.”

“...Knew what?” Keith asks. Shiro smiles to himself, shrugs. He clears his throat and looks out the front window, out into the stars.

“You know. That we’re both… into men.”

Oh.

“...Oh,” Keith says, delayed. He lets out a half-aborted little laugh and rubs his bicep. “Yeah. That’s--”

“Don’t tell him I told you that.”

Keith blinks and looks up. “I wouldn’t.”

“I know.” Shiro smiles, eyes warm. “I trust you.”

Keith relaxes, then, and looks back out the window into deep space. That nagging sensation in his gut is back again, but he doesn’t know where to even begin to parse it.

“But, uh. I didn’t want to see you to talk about Curtis,” Shiro says haltingly. It draws Keith’s attention away from the void, and back onto Shiro and the way the starlight highlights his snow white eyelashes. Keith’s heart lurches.

“You wanted to see me for something?” 

“Yes. Keith, I…” Shiro trails off. He pinches his lips together and pulls up a screen on his console. He types in a few numbers, and Keith hears the sliding doors behind them hiss and lock, sealing them inside. Keith’s brow instantly knits.

“Shiro?”

“Do you have time for another ‘unpacking’ conversation? It’s been a couple weeks.”

Keith blinks, shifts, and gives a short nod. His heart’s already pounding against his chest. “Yeah, sure. That’s fine.”

“Good. Okay, um. There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about--for… a long time. I could never find a good time, once I was myself again. And now I’m just worried I’ve missed my window for it to be relevant.”

Shiro leans heavily on the console, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. He lets his head hang there, eyes closed and lips pinched in thought. Keith’s heart is racing and he doesn’t know why. Unsure of what to do, he just stands there, shifting from foot to foot and rubbing his thumb over the back of his index finger.

“Shiro?” he tries again. Biting his lip, he reaches out to settle his hand on Shiro’s back, but he hesitates and pulls his hand away, instead. “What’s wrong?”

“Matt talked to me. About what happened on Naxzela. A while ago. I mean, months ago.”

Keith’s blood runs cold as Shiro pushes himself away from the console. When he turns to face him again, his face is pinched and conflicted, enough that Keith wants to shrink away from him. Age-old fears of Shiro walking away from him, the sight of Shiro’s back as he leaves his life for good--the visions bubble up in him. He says nothing, but the shock is evident in his face. Shiro sighs, the edges of his upset face softening.

“I’m not angry with you… anymore. It happened such a long time ago now that it hardly even… I just want you to know that I _know_ it happened, and that I care about it. And while I’m happy that you’d do anything for the cause, I’m… not happy that you’d do… _anything_.”

Keith glances around the room like other people had just witnessed what Shiro had said to him, but of course they are still alone. He blinks, rapidly, and squints up at Shiro. “You’re… happy. But not happy?”

“More than anyone, I understand that hard decisions need to be made in war. And impossible sacrifices made, but--nothing. _Nothing_ is worth you throwing your life away for something you weren’t sure was going to work.”

“Voltron could go on without me,” Keith blurts before he can stop himself. Shiro blinks, stricken. “I mean. That’s what was in my head, when I… did that. I just. Thought, since Voltron could go on without me, that…”

Before Keith can finish, Shiro’s prosthetic arm is at his side, grabbing his bicep tight enough to bring Keith’s words to a screeching halt. Shiro’s face is tight, brows knitted and his nostrils flared. His eyes have a dangerous fire in them, and his lips are pressed together in a flat line. It’s enough to make Keith’s heart stutter helplessly in his chest. His crossed arms unravel, and he leans away from Shiro a little bit, unsure if he’s about to be yanked forward or thrown to the floor. He wouldn’t, would he?

But Shiro does nothing. He just holds him tightly--too tightly. The prosthetic creaks around Keith’s bicep--it’s big enough to wrap all the way around the width of his arm, like he’s a _pencil_. 

“Don’t talk like that, Keith.”

His words are low, authoritative, but it doesn’t make Keith feel like a commanding officer is talking to him. It feels more personal, like a direct hit to the heart. It takes his breath away.

“I--” Keith starts. He lowers his voice. “I’m just telling the truth. And your hand is too tight.”

Shiro’s face breaks a little and he loosens his grip as he takes a deep, shaking breath. He doesn’t let go, however, still gripping Keith’s arm.

“I’m going to tell you something, and you probably won’t believe me. But know that I mean _every_ word,” Shiro says. He enunciates every single word, almost spitting them. “You _are_ vital for Voltron. From the day you first sat in the pilot’s chair of the Red Lion, to now. Even when you were away, Voltron could not exist without you.”

“That’s--” Keith starts, weakly. His shoulders slump. “...Not true.”

“It is. If you had given yourself up in Naxzela, eventually the clone situation would have come to a head. No one would have saved me. Atlas wouldn’t exist. Voltron wouldn’t have a head. And Lotor’s meddling in the quintessence field would’ve ripped reality apart. So, yes. It’s _true_. I couldn’t-- _we_ couldn’t do this without you. Voltron needs you. The universe needs you,” Shiro says. His prosthetic hand loosens more, and slips down to Keith’s elbow, just holding it delicately, like Keith is fragile. Shiro’s eyes close. Keith watches the way his eyelashes brush against his high cheekbones so closely he almost doesn’t hear Shiro say, “And I need you.”

“Huh?” Keith asks. Shiro opens his eyes, then. They shine, not with tears, but with more emotion than Keith has seen in a _very_ long time. Keith feels his heart stutter for the millionth time since he came into this room. He doesn’t know how to process the sudden intensity of Shiro’s gaze, so he promptly looks down at his feet and takes a great interest in the details of the floor.

“‘If it weren’t for you, my life would be a lot different’,” Shiro says with borrowed lines.

Keith stares at his feet harder. There’s a scuff on the toe of his boot.

“That’s what you said to me once, right? Well, for me, _I_ wouldn’t be alive. If it wasn’t for you. If you had stopped looking for me, if you had let me go when the witch took control.”

Keith takes a trembling breath. “...Anyone would’ve saved you, no matter what.”

It’s a lie. They wouldn’t have. Both of them know it. 

Feeling timid, Keith lifts his gaze to finally meet Shiro’s. His eyes are still fiery and intense, but the flash of anger is gone.

“Promise me,” Shiro murmurs.

“...What?”

“Promise me, you won’t pull something like that again. We’re in this together. You, me. The paladins, and the Atlas crew. No one needs to become a martyr in this fight. I have your back. We all have each _other’s_ back. And that will never change.”

“You don’t know if--”

“ _Keith_.”

“--if it saves the universe--”

“ _Promise_ me.”

Keith swallows. Why does his throat feel so tight? “...I promise, Shiro.”

It’s not a promise either of them can make, but Keith says it anyway because it soothes the sharp wrinkle in Shiro’s brow, and douses the flame in his eyes, if only a little bit. There’s no way to tell what is going to come in the coming days, weeks, even years, and yet Keith doesn’t regret the lie he tells to comfort his best friend. But Shiro’s not stupid, they both know it. It’s a baseless, silly promise. A wish, more than anything, built on pillars of sand and uneven ground.

Shiro sighs. The prosthetic dips lower, slipping from Keith’s elbow, down his forearm, and to his wrist. He’s close to just holding Keith’s hand. Keith’s pulse throbs helplessly against the cool metal of Shiro’s prosthetic fingers.

“Shiro. You’re important to me,” Keith says, voice small and his confidence smaller. He can charge men and women into battle, lead them to victory, has stared death in the eye--but the simple task of telling Shiro how he feels right now has his knees quaking and his teeth chattering. “You _all_. Are important to me. You’re my family.”

“You’re my family, too.”

Shiro shifts and, skittish as he’s feeling at this exact moment, Keith tenses up like Shiro’s going to leave him alone. But instead, Shiro pulls Keith’s wrist towards himself, making Keith stumble into his space and very nearly faceplant into his chest. Stunned, he stands there like a cactus while Shiro wraps one arm around him. And… the prosthetic, too. It’s familiar; a hug from Shiro, yes, but usually their hands are joined between them to give them that extra inch or two of space. But Shiro leaves no room for space, and in fact almost presses Keith up against the console in order to get closer to him. Keith doesn’t know what to do with his arms, and he sort of stubs his toe on Shiro’s boot, and their knees are knocking together.

But Shiro holds him close anyway.

Eventually, Keith remembers how hugs typically operate and he wraps his arms around Shiro’s waist. With one hand, he fists in the fabric of Shiro’s uniform jacket; the other, he settles at the lower curve of his back. There’s no rush, this time. No interruptions, no threat of incoming doom. The way Shiro holds him is close, _intimate_ somehow, in a way Keith can’t place. It bothers him that his cheeks feel warm and his heart squeezes painfully in his chest. Conflict rises in him, but at least one thing is clear: he loves Shiro. More than anything, more than even the universe.

The Atlas hums, content, all around them. 

Keith’s pretty sure he could doze off like this. His eyes are already closed, and every muscle is lax in Shiro’s arms. He can feel Shiro’s even breathing--in and out, in and out, fanning over the top of his head and tickling his flyaway hairs. His arms don’t move, but Keith can feel the gentle up-and-down motion of Shiro’s metallic thumb, rubbing along about three of the nubs of Keith’s vertebrae through his clothes.

“You’re selfless, and your heart’s bigger than all of ours, I think,” Shiro finally murmurs. Keith can feel his lips moving against his scalp. “...You’re reckless. But you would give up anything to save the universe.”

Keith tucks his face more firmly into Shiro’s chest, enshrouded by the warm, safe darkness he enjoys so much. Shiro is more than happy to oblige him.

“Not everything,” he says, bravely. “...Not you.”

He feels Shiro’s breath catch. And for a split moment, he swears he hears Shiro’s heart stumble, too, like it had climbed an extra step on a staircase. Minutely, the arms around Keith’s body tighten. 

“I’m not ready to talk about the cloning facility yet. I know I owe you a talk, Keith. Especially about that. But not yet.”

When Keith tries to pull away so he can look up at Shiro’s face properly, Shiro hugs him tighter and doesn’t let him retreat. So Keith just settles in his arms again, mouth and nose buried in Shiro’s shoulder as he stares blankly out at the cockpit. Shiro isn’t shaking, but Keith can feel the way his breath wavers in his hair.

He wants to ask _why_ Shiro wants to wait, he wants to ask what could _possibly_ be holding him back. But he doesn’t, because the moment is hanging between them on one single frayed thread. He won’t be the one to cut it short, and possibly lose the moment forever.

“I learned to be patient from the best,” Keith whispers. He turns towards Shiro’s face a little, still trying to get a look. He only manages to squish his nose against the shell of Shiro’s ear. Shoulders shaking, Shiro chuckles. 

“Oh, good. I was worried all I’ve ever taught you is how to jump hoverbikes off cliffs.”

“Heh.”

Finally, Shiro pulls away. Keith misses the warmth immediately, and it takes an embarrassing amount of willpower not to chase after it. Thankfully, Shiro doesn’t seem to want to let him go, either, as he takes Keith by the shoulders and smiles down at him.

“For what it’s worth,” he says. “I’m… really glad you didn’t manage to sacrifice yourself.”

The hands on his shoulders squeeze tight, just once, before Shiro lets go of Keith completely. His warmth lingers like a scarf, wrapped around his shoulders and traveling up his neck with a tingling sensation.

Keith smiles and puts his hands back in his pockets. “Me, too.”

“There’s another thing I wanted to bri--” Shiro starts, but he’s interrupted by a beeping sound at his console. With an apologetic smile, he holds up a finger and checks the message. “Oh. Well, we’ll have to put a tack on that.”

“Why’s that?”

“We just picked up a signal for a Galra-inhabited base on the long range scanners. Planet Ryker,” Shiro says. He immediately shifts into captain mode, standing a little straighter and furrowing his brows as an image of the aforementioned Galra base spreads over the front window of the cockpit. “We’ll talk about it later, Keith.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, but he himself is already shifting into his own leader mode, arms crossed and his expression severe. “They’re definitely hostiles, look at the ground cannons. We can try a peaceful encounter but I doubt we’ll get very far.”

“We’ll try anyway. Gather the paladins and be prepared to engage within a few hours. Meet me back here before we arrive in the base’s sector so we can go over our strategy.”

“Got it. Voltron will be ready.”

As Keith turns to leave, Shiro activates the ship’s intercom. _“Attention Atlas crew. Sensors have just picked up a Galra-occupied base three sectors away. Prepare for possible immediate engagement with hostile forces in t-minus six hours. Bridge team, report to stations for tactical meeting immediately.”_

The Atlas is abuzz within seconds.

Keith walks down the hall with a purpose, breezing past dozens of others who jog past him, most of them on communication devices in their ears, either issuing orders or taking them. The only communicator he has on him is a basic pager he keeps on his hip when he doesn’t have his helmet on hand; he never uses it. The Paladins know where to go when there is an announcement over the intercom.

Their destination is a small, isolated observation room on the portside stern of the Atlas, tucked away just enough to hold meetings with the Paladins without too much fear of being interrupted. It’s also a good place just to hide away for awhile and avoid too much contact with Voltron fans--there are _many_ on the ship--and get some peace and quiet. Keith would know, of course; it’s his most frequented room, after all.

This makes it extra surprising when Keith enters the room only to find Allura already there, standing alone in front of the long floor-to-ceiling window stretching from wall to wall. Outside, the stars slip by in a silent river of pinpricked light, dancing over Allura’s skin, and the black meeting table set up in the center of the room. It’s a little awkward to just walk in on her here, especially with Lance nowhere to be seen. He half expects the guy to leap out from behind one of the rolling chairs set up around the table, but it never happens. Clearing his throat, Keith raps his knuckles on the doorframe before he steps completely inside and lets the door slide shut behind him with a hiss.

“You okay?” Keith asks. The question seems silly. Allura has been a hundred shades of _not okay_ for the past five months, and thoughts hang heavy in the bags underneath her eyes and the downturn of her smile. Keith offers her an uncomfortable glance, and an even more uncomfortable smile. “I’m not the best at talking, so--”

“I just can’t get my mind off of that witch. Everything Romelle relayed to me after that Altean perished. The things she said… the lies being fed to those innocent people. _My_ people.”

Keith sighs. Time to put on his supportive leader hat. Coming forward, he stands beside Allura in quiet solidarity, inviting her to continue on with a sympathetic look. Allura crosses her arms, sighs, and stares out into space.

“She’s out there, Keith. She’s truly still out there… and we are dealing with forces we don’t understand. _So many_ lives are at stake. The Atlas crew, the Paladin’s, the... Lance’s.”

Keith catches her pause, watches her look down at her feet and rub at her arm. Without much more he can really do to support her, Keith just lifts a hand and settles it, nice and easy, upon her shoulder.

Allura continues, eyes screwed shut, “Shiro says we need to stick to our plan, but I’m… I.”

As her eyes open, her voice wavers, and her arms cross even tighter over her chest. “I’m terrified of what could happen. The havoc she could wreak upon us, and the death and violence she _has_ already inflicted. Everything we could _lose_ if we were to fail.” 

She grips her own sleeves, pulling them hard enough that Keith swears he can hear the seams squeaking in protest. When she relaxes, she looks exhausted, and she tips her head back with a single, shaking sigh. It’s weird to see her this way; she’s always been a sort of de facto leader, sort of like the Altean, female version of Shiro. The tactician. The diplomat. The one pulling the strings. But like this, with her bottom lip pinched between her teeth and her eyes glassy like she wants to cry? She’s another young woman, thrust into a battle she never should’ve been.

“Keith?” Allura asks. She looks at him, eyes full to the brim with tears. “If everything… _everything_ you held dear hung in the balance. If the universe relied on the strength of your shoulders and yours alone--what would you give up to save it?”

“Anything,” Keith answers, simply. He doesn’t hesitate. It shatters the promise he’d made to Shiro, of course. But it’s true. It has always been true, and Shiro knows it, too.

Allura blinks, her chin trembling, as two silvery tears slip down her cheeks. For all intents and purposes, it looks like she’s trying to will the tears away by force. Instead, she lifts a delicate hand and brushes her tears from her cheeks with the backs of her fingers. The movement is so graceful, Keith almost forgets she’s crying.

“What if,” Allura starts. Her head dips, eyes to the floor. Tears plop onto the toes of her boots. “The ‘anything’ I have to give for this universe, is _me?_ Or Lance? Or you, or Pidge, or Hunk? Or Shiro?”

“You’ll never have that choice.”

Allura looks up and meets Keith’s gaze in his reflection on the glass window separating them and the cold emptiness of space. Keith’s hand remains on her shoulder, stalwart, keeping her grounded even as she lets her guard down beside him. He doesn’t look at her directly; her tears feel private, somehow, and from a deep place in her heart that he’s not supposed to see.

“What do you mean?” Allura asks when Keith doesn’t follow up right away. His hand squeezes her shoulder.

“I mean, you have us, Allura. We’ve all got your back. No matter what happens in this, you’re not alone. Even if that’s the way you feel. It took me a long time to figure out how to rely on other people--you guys--a little more. And trust a little more. To not feel so alone, even when I was surrounded,” Keith murmurs. His hand squeezes her shoulder again before he lets go of her completely and faces her properly. “It’s okay to lean on us. We’re… your team.”

Allura sniffs, and rubs the heel of her hand into her eye. “No. You’re my family.”

It happens so fast that Keith doesn’t really know what hit him until Allura is throwing her arms around his neck in a tighter hug than she’s ever given him. The grip around his neck is just about enough to strangle him, and Keith lets out a warning wheeze as he taps Allura’s side. She loosens her grip a little, tearfully laughing, and settles for simply holding Keith around the shoulders.

Together they stand before the mural of stars, silently embracing. He’s getting a lot of hugs today. Well. Only two hugs, but it’s two more hugs than he gets on any normal day. It’s nice. A little weird, but nice. He notices, however, that he doesn’t get the overwhelming warm feeling in his gut that he gets when Shiro holds him. Maybe it’s because Allura smells like a flowery sort of perfume. Maybe it’s because he loves her like she’s his sister. But he loves Shiro like a brother, so--

Before confusing emotions get the better of him, Keith grabs her waist and gently pulls her off. He holds her there, at arm’s length, but doesn’t let go of her. 

“Thank you, Keith,” Allura sniffles. Her tears have almost gone, and some of the dullness has brightened in her eyes. “And… thank you, for talking to me. I didn’t want to burden Lance any more with my fretting. He’s been… restless, over it.”

“Lance can be a little immature,” Keith mutters, but Allura shakes her head and laughs.

“No, no. He takes it all very seriously. Too seriously. I worry that I rely on him too much when… I want to just enjoy our…”

“Oh. Right. You two are…”

“Yes.”

Face downturned, the tips of Allura’s ears go pink in her embarrassment. Keith doesn’t really know what to do, so he ends up awkwardly patting her waist, right at the curve of it. Why is he holding her waist, anyway?

He doesn’t have time to assess the placement of his hands, because in the next moment, the door at the end of the room slides open to reveal Hunk, Pidge, and--of course--Lance. He takes one look at Keith’s hands on Allura’s waist, Allura’s blushing ears, and the tear tracks on her cheeks before he begins a category five meltdown. He points at Keith, glaring daggers, as he stomps around the table in the center of the room, grabs Allura by the shoulders, and pulls her back against his chest. He wraps protective arms around her, caging her in as she offers Keith a weary, apologetic smile.

“What are you doing, alone in the dark in here, makin’ Allura cry, huh?!” Lance demands answers, still pointing a shaking finger at Keith. “You’ve got some nerve!”

“ _Lance_ ,” Allura sighs. Pidge and Hunk come all the way inside the room and let the door slide shut behind them, only to instantly jump into a dramatic reimagination of the scene before them in grossly high pitched voices.

“Oh, _Lonce_ , I didn’t see you come in, I was too busy being held in Keith’s strong, _manly_ arms,” Hunk squeaks in an accent bad enough to make Keith cringe. Pidge grabs Hunk by the waist and holds him close. 

“She’s mine now,” Pidge rumbles, voice artificially deep. Keith looks up at the ceiling and crosses his arms as Pidge continues, raucous. “It’s too late, Lance, she’s mine, just like the TV show. It is destiny.”

Lance gasps, horrified. “ _Homewrecker!_ Keith is a homewrecker!”

Keith bristles. “That’s not _me!_ They’re doing a _stupid skit!_ ” he barks.

“Hey! Our skit isn’t stupid,” Pidge huffs. She sticks her tongue out at him. “You’re the one standing in here, _schmoozin’_ it up with Allura.”

“Wow, Keith, didn’t know you were a homewrecker. That’s super not cool, man,” Hunk pipes in, probably for the sake of continuing to rib him. And it’s not going to work, Keith isn’t going to take the bait. He’s not going to fall for--

He whirls on Hunk, livid. “I am _not_ a _homewrecker!_ ”

“Only a homewrecker would make Allura cry!” Lance wails. He holds Allura close, swaying back and forth and rubbing their cheeks together as she just gives Keith a flat look. “There, there, Allura. I’m here now.”

“... _Lance…_ ”

“I didn’t make her cry!”

“Sure looks like you made her cry. What do you think, Pidge?”

“All the evidence points to Keith making Allura cry.”

“Horrific.”

Keith bellows out in rage. _“I didn’t make Allura--”_

_“Enough!”_ Allura’s booming voice fills the room and then some, casting it immediately into silence. And she looks angry, hands on her hips even as Lance grips her from behind like a human-shaped cape. She breathes in through her nose. “You are all… _all of you_ \--”

She can’t hold out. Bubbling laughter comes up through her and she bursts into laughter, gripping her belly and nearly collapsing back against Lance as she laughs and laughs until she’s struggling to breathe. She barely manages to wheeze, _“All of you are going to make me laugh!”_

“You’re _already_ laughing,” Lance says, and he descends into giggles, too. He plants a huge kiss right on the lifted apple of her cheek. From across the room, Pidge pantomimes throwing up, Hunk starts to laugh, and his infectious belly laughs make her bust out laughing, too. Keith runs a hand through his hair, exasperated, but at least the mood is lightened and they’re together again, all five of them. One unit. He takes down his walls and lets his shoulders shake with laughter, too. 

But duty calls, and through his snickering, Keith tries to bring order. “Guys. _Paladins_. We need to _f-focus_.”

They’re still laughing too hard, crescendoing off of each other’s mirthful energy until the room is in a hysterical uproar. Allura ugly snorts at one point, prompting infatuated hyena laughter from Lance, and Pidge loudly proclaims she’s going to pee herself if she laughs any harder. She slams her hand down on the meeting table and half-slumps to the floor while Hunk grabs her ribcage and tries to support her. He only manages to tickle her somehow, and she jolts and crashes into one of the wheelie chairs, knocking it over. Hunk laughs so hard he has to take a knee. 

Keith throws his head back at the display and laughs until he’s red in the face and there’s a stitch in his side. They should really be getting to battle strategies. They should be taking this seriously. 

It wasn’t even that funny.

Keith thinks it’s the hardest he’s ever laughed in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [nautilicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nautilicious) here on AO3 for their wonderful beta reading and editing work.
> 
> Extra special thanks to [morse](https://twitter.com/realsheithhours), who works with AO3's policy and copyright protection team and is working with me to ensure I stay within AO3's copyright infringement policy.
> 
> You can follow my [twitter here](https://twitter.com/weavelle). You can follow my [tumblr here.](https://weavelle.tumblr.com)
> 
> For my own sanity I will say that this fic will have a set update schedule, with updates at around 8-9PM EST, on Fridays. Official tag for this fic will be [#TUYICY](https://twitter.com/search?f=tweets&q=%23tuyicy&src=typd)


	3. The Warlord's Dilemma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey, sorry this is late! Celebrated the holidays late with my family and ran into some stuff at home. I'll try to get back on schedule ASAP.
> 
> \--[elle](https://twitter.com/weavelle)

“This is the Voltron Coaliti—”

_“OPEN FIRE!”_

_“I think that’s the quickest anyone’s ever interrupted your spiel!”_ Lance yells over the comms as the open sky immediately explodes into chaos and lasers. The Voltron Lions scatter in every direction as the Atlas takes the brunt of the blows. Every laser beam sinks easily into her shields.

“ _Fighters launching!_ ” Hunk says. Then, immediately, “ _Whoa!_ ”

The Yellow Lion banks sharply left as a cluster of the sentried fighters zip right past him and makes for the Atlas. She holds strong against their gunfire, a guardian angel overhead. Keith can hear Shiro’s orders in the background, but he forces himself to focus on the Paladins.

“Watch your fire!” he calls. The Black Lion barrel rolls to avoid cannonfire from the ground, the centrifugal force shoving Keith up against the side of his seat. Gritting his teeth, he pulls the drive shaft hard, rearing Black straight up and over to avoid a tracking laserbeam. Still, he manages to yell, “Remember, defensive maneuvers, focus sentries!”

_“Roger!”_

Keith tunes back in to the Atlas, once again pitching his lion into a tight roll to avoid yet another set of cannons. “Atlas!”

Shiro is already on it. His voice booms over the comms. “ _Get cannonfire off the lions! Take us in closer!_ ”

Keith glances behind him as the lions shake off cannonfire. They immediately turn to the Atlas, powerful beams blasting into the Atlas’s bow. Her shields hold strong, and Keith returns his focus to his fight.

The sound of shredding metal is deafening; Black’s jawblade rips through sentries and the base’s cavalry forces like butter, leaving an impressive light show in her wake. Her course nearly rams her face into the side of the central facility, but Keith hangs tight and yanks her drive shafts back, running her up the side of the structure and denting it in the process. She springs from the building, then, and Keith spins her around in one great arching loop that takes down a dozen of the fighters with it. 

A second later, an explosion lights up the sky in blazing gold as the hostile ground cannons are blown to bits. Keith flies past, face illuminated with the brilliant light before a shadow rockets past him, almost too quickly for him to register. The blue light trailing after it like a comet can only mean that the MFE fighters have been scrambled. The rebel ships drop not even a moment later.

“Paladins, cover the MFEs! Rebel ships inbound!”

The paladins immediately shift focus and hostile reinforcements drop like flies to the specialized weapons of the lions, and Keith narrowly dodges one of Pidge’s monstrous green vines that explode forth from a cavalry unit she’d taken down. He’s right on Griffin and Kinkade’s tails, slashing down any fighters that follow them, and when he’s sure they’re clear, he steers into a nosedive to send seven fighters after him into the ground with the speed of their descent. Nearby, the Yellow Lion crushes a smaller, auxiliary ground cannon to a pulp on the planet’s surface.

Matt’s voice calls over the comms. _“Detonating EMP!”_

The lions zip out of range before the blast goes off and sends great mushroom clouds of violet blooming over the sky. The base goes down like a ton of rocks, and the few sentried fighters still located close to base go dark and promptly crash to the ground. Only the ones above remain, still hounding the Atlas and overwhelming her slow cannons.

“We need to pick off the last of the fighters on the Atlas!” Keith commands. “Everyone on me! Fo—”

Their transformation is interrupted by bright violet laserfire from above, hailing down on them. The Atlas is hit, and Keith watches as it hitches under the powerful beam. Shields are back up in a fraction of a second, and Shiro barks over the comms.

“ _Get visual on the source of the laserfire! Adjust heading for evasive maneuvers!_ ”

Keith looks around wildly for the source, but there’s so much light and so much rolling around and turning to avoid cannonfire that he disorients himself. But he remains calm and gets a visual on Pidge, who leads the charge through the lasers, and follows her.

“Everyone on the Green Lion until we have an opening to form Voltron!”

Keeping close, the lions weave through laserfire strong enough to rip through the ground beneath them and throw up showers of rock and dust. Black tosses her head to clear her front windshield of the debris. 

_“I can’t locate the point of origin_ ,” Pidge calls. “ _They’re under a cloaking device somewhere!_ ”

Allura jumps in. “ _I’m on it!_ ”

As Allura works on getting visual, Keith moves into formation with the others, preparing to form Voltron. The Red Lion is at his side in an instant, followed closely by Green and Yellow. As soon as the Blue Lion’s sonar device has located the source, she too jumps into formation.

“ _Form Voltron!”_

As bright light enshrouds them and the lions come together, Keith feels himself expand in an extension of both his mind and body. The tendrils of his connection with his fellow paladins strengthen and form near-tangible threads that bind them. Lance’s worry for Allura, Allura’s worry for Lance, Pidge’s worry for her family, Hunk’s worry for everyone’s safety. They all become his worries, and in turn, they feel his worry for all of them. His love for them. In his mind’s eye, each of them reach out to grasp him, all of them in it together. Eight hands rest upon his arms, two pairs at his elbows, another two pairs at his hands, holding him. And a ninth hand descends from above, settling down right where it belongs, on his left shoulder.

No severage of connections could ever keep Shiro away. Keith feels him too; far, far overhead. An angel of protection even here. The White Lion.

When he opens his eyes again, Voltron raises their shield just in time for heavy cannonfire to send them backwards in the sky, but it’s not enough to shoot them down. Keith breathes in with five sets of lungs, breathes out with five mouths. Looks up into the darkness with five sets of eyes.

He jams his bayard into the weapons port, and Voltron sprouts its megathrusters. Faster than the eye can properly conceive, they leap across the space between them and the cannons, effortlessly dodging the comparatively snail-like lasers that try in vain to take them down.

Five sets of ears hear the ringing of blades, followed by an explosion big enough to send Voltron spinning head-over-heels away from the blast. The Paladins hold on for dear life, but eventually they slow and stop. The sky is silent. The battle is ended.

Keith knows, rationally, the Atlas was never in danger of being shot down in such a small-scale battle. Still, he feels his heart blossom with relief when Shiro’s voice comes over the comms. _“Great work, Paladins. We’ve successfully gained control of the base.”_

As he shuts his eyes, Keith feels the threads connecting him and the other Paladins start to unravel. The end of battle means it’s time to disband and sever the mindlinks, but Keith feels the blips of emotion coursing through Voltron and their paladins in a single pulse, like a heartbeat. Their relief. Their worry that this will be the battle that comes back with casualty reports. Their gratefulness to have survived just one more skirmish. The pride thrumming in their lion hearts.

Above him, the White Lion retreats, too. The hand upon Keith’s shoulder retracts, fingertips brushing across his neck and jaw as it does. It trails through his hair, lingers there, and then it’s gone with nothing but a whisper that touches all five of them like a healing balm.

_I’m glad you’re all safe._

Keith looks up as the threads connecting him to his fellow paladins slip away, and Voltron is gone. He’s back to being just one person; one set of lungs, one heart, two eyes and two ears. He takes in a shuddering breath and readjusts his grip on the drive sticks.

The Atlas is descending, preparing to land on the planet’s surface. The MFEs are coming back in, along with the rebel ships. The Voltron Lions fly in formation back towards ground.

“...Paladins inbound,” Keith says over the comms. “Ready for negotiations.”

-*-

“Securing this base will give us a decent foothold in this sector,” Shiro is explaining as they march down the halls. He glances over his shoulder. “The MFE unit has the command room on lockdown already. It’s all negotiations from here on out.”

“Be on your toes, Paladins,” Keith adds. “We don’t know how dangerous these guys are.”

Apparently, however, Hunk has no sense of self-preservation as the doors before them slide open and he perks up in recognition. Before Keith can stop him, Hunk is jogging forward, laughing incredulously.

“No way!”

Keith gives Shiro a look, and is met only with a smile and a helpless shrug. Well. If Shiro isn’t concerned… the command center _is_ under total lockdown, anyway. No one is about to start pulling firearms with some of the Garrison’s best watching. Pidge and Lance move away from the group, following Matt to the communications console. Keith beckons to the others to follow, catching the tail end of a conversation Hunk is having with the base’s leader. 

“You know, Hunk? Paladin of the Yellow Lion?”

“...I am aware.”

“Uh—friend of yours, Hunk?” Keith asks. He stands beside Hunk, staring up at the base’s leader with one cocked brow. He doesn’t recognize him from anywhere. “Who are you?”

“This is—we helped him once to save his—oh, wait. Right! You were, you—you were on a space road trip with your mom. Lieutenant Lahn, meet Keith. He’s the leader of Voltron. He’s nice when you get to know him, promise. And Keith, this is our friend—“

“Friend,” Lahn scoffs. He trains his cold scowl away from Keith and back to Hunk, lip curled in disgust. “You are _no_ friends of mine. And it’s _Warlord_ Lahn.”

“Oh. Uh,” Hunk stammers. He and Keith exchange a look. “I thought. Uh. Since we sorta. Saved your whole… you know. I. Yeah. Never mind. You know what, you’re right. Uh—what. Are you right about, exactly?”

“Your disappearance left us unable to defend ourselves from external threats. Our base was compromised!” Lahn snarls. He takes a step forward, towards Hunk, and the MFE fighters flanking his sides tense with their weapons half-raised. 

“Stand. _Down_ ,” Keith demands. Lahn’s eyes are on him in an instant, glaring.

“Our disappearance was something _none_ of us expected,” Allura pleads from behind, interrupting the staredown. “Please.”

“You have done nothing but come here to force us to our knees.”

Allura sucks in a sharp breath. “We—”

“We _didn’t_ come here to argue,” Shiro interrupts, voice low and commanding. All eyes turn to him, and he’s the picture of almost regal authority. “The Voltron Coalition asks you to join us in the fight for _peace_ across the universe. It has been unstable for far too long.”

“Are you giving me a choice?” Lahn scoffs. “Or did you come here to crush us beneath your heel?”

“In order to bring stability, there _is_ no other choice.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t always have to be victory or death.”

“And what would you know of _victory or death?_ What would _you_ know of the Galra way?”

Keith freezes, hands clenched at his sides. The others glance at him; none of them speak up to defend him. It’s not their place. As Keith’s eyes pass over to Shiro, they exchange looks. Subtly, Shiro’s brows furrow and he gives Keith a single nod.

“I am Galra,” Keith says. He glares up at Lahn. “My mother and I are with the Blades of Marmora.”

“You dare think you can stand here and lecture me on the way of the Galra? You, and what army? Your decimated Blades? Your mother? You’re nothing but a filthy half-breed.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Keith catches Shiro tense up. Hears the creaking of metal prosthetic digits. Actually— _all_ of them are tensing, and a cold wave of disdain washes over the paladins. _Now_ it’s their place.

“You don’t know who you’re talking to,” growls Pidge. She and Lance have turned away from the console, scowling at the back of Lahn’s head. “And you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lance jumps in, too. “Yeah. Leave him alone.”

“Pretty uncool to say,” Hunk agrees, and Keith’s pretty sure he can hear Allura cracking her knuckles behind him. He’s so taken aback by how readily his friends jump in to save him that he barely remembers he has to _stop them_ from actively beating the guy to a pulp. 

“Guys,” Keith says. He holds up an arm. “It’s fine.”

Lahn sniffs, unimpressed. “Your little pack is obedient. But to such a _weak_ master.”

“Warlord Lahn,” Shiro addresses him as politely as a man with murder on the mind can address another person. His eyes are dark, pure electric storm. A vein in his neck bulges, and Keith recognizes the way his jaw is set in professionally contained fury. A shiver goes up his spine. Shiro continues on, voice unwavering. “You are forgetting that you have no quarter in these negotiations, and needlessly insulting the head of Voltron is not going to make this process any easier.”

Lahn opens his mouth to speak when Pidge yells from her place over by the console. “Guys! There’s an incoming transmission! I’m patching it through.”

There’s a loud click, followed by three words in a language Keith doesn’t recognize. 

_Yordam. Bering. Exus. Yordam. Bering. Exus._

“...What _is_ that?” Hunk asks. He looks up towards the ceiling like he’s going to find something there. Lahn’s jaw tightens.

“It’s a distress beacon sent by our sentry unit. Have you brought _them_ to their knees, too, Voltron?”

“...No,” Keith murmurs. He too looks up at the ceiling, listening closely to the words being repeated over and over. 

“Pidge, can you try to pinpoint the origin of those signals?” Shiro asks. Pidge tips her head back and forth, nudges Matt with her elbow, and together they work at the console. It’s a minute or two of waiting. Lance sort of stands there, trying and failing to look interested in the programming mumbo-jumbo scrolling rapidly across the screen.

“Communications are pretty shot because of the EMPs, but uh—we’ve got this. A comm signature. Does this ship look familiar to you?”

As the holographic display shudders and glitches into view, Lahn shifts on his feet and furrows his brows. He clenches his handcuffed fists as his face darkens.

“Yes. That is one of ours. It, along with fourteen other ships, have been on an assignment for six phoebs. We lost communication some time ago; they were believed to be dead. That ship in particular is Klytax V-3.”

“Well, if one is sending a distress signal, then they can’t all be dead,” Keith says. Hands on his hips, he turns to Shiro and nods to him. “We’ve got to check it out. Someone out there survived and needs help. How long is the Atlas going to be out of commission?”

Shiro chews his lip and crosses his arms. “A while. There’s still work to be done here to ensure the planet will continue to run smoothly once we’re gone. And we’ve got to run reports back to Earth. Hours. We can’t drop the mission now for this.”

“Then Voltron will go, instead.”

Lahn scoffs. “Voltron? My men would never believe—“

“ _You’re_ coming with,” Keith snaps, and that’s enough to shut Lahn up. As Keith rounds up the Paladins and has the MFE fighters escort Lahn to the Black Lion, Shiro hangs back just long enough so they’re out of earshot from the others. He walks beside Keith in the hall outside of the control room, tossing him a concerned look.

“You’re going to ride with Lahn by yourself in the Black Lion?”

“No. I’ll have the space wolf.”

“Keith…”

“If we want people to join the Coalition, we can’t just rely on twisting their arms and forcing them in. We have to show we’re willing to fight for them, and defend them. ‘Defenders of the universe’ doesn’t mean _just_ the people who are thrilled to join us.”

Shiro stares at Keith for a long moment before he laughs and claps his shoulder with his flesh hand, squeezing warmly. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.”

They go their separate ways after that. It takes a while for Keith to make it back to where the Lions have been stationed in wait for their pilots, somewhere off to the side of the base, and sitting around in a circle. The Paladins are already boarding, chatting amongst themselves in the comms. Keith tunes them out, instead focusing his attention on Lahn, who leans against the paw of the Black Lion with Kinkade and Griffin flanking either side. 

“Are you going to want backup with you?” Griffin asks as Keith approaches. “You’re going to be alone in the cockpit with this guy.”

As if on cue, the space wolf snaps into view with a burst of electric blue light. He takes one look at Lahn and starts to snarl, hackles raised. Lahn, in all of his Galran pride and dignity, shrinks back a little and half-raises his cuffed hands in defense.

“I think I’ve got it covered. You guys stay here and help the Atlas process this planet, Voltron won’t be gone for long,” Keith assures them. Griffin and Kinkade glance at each other. “I mean it. We’ll be fine.”

“Hm,” Kinkade grunts. He shrugs and jerks his head towards the group of Galra soldiers sitting around as they’re passed rations, water bottles, and bandages. “Good luck, man.”

They walk away, leaving Keith alone with Lahn, who’s still sort of pressing himself against the paw of the Black Lion as the space wolf snuffles at him and growls every time he so much as twitches a finger. Keith watches, mildly amused, and takes his sweet time calling the Black Lion down to put her chin on the ground. With a scowl, Lahn boards with the space wolf at his heel, snarling and snapping at his ankles.

Keith’s just about to follow him up into the cockpit when he hears the thumping of boots approaching him from behind, and a voice calling his name.

“Keith. Keith!”

Shiro. Keith turns, blinking as he finds Shiro dressed from head to toe in his Atlas armor, the inside of his helmet still a little fogged up from running back. He slows to a stop beside Keith, hands on his hips and almost out of breath, like he had ran the whole way to and from the Atlas. 

“Shiro? What’s going on?”

“Haa—I’m glad I’m not too, haa, late. I’m coming with you.”

“I’m—we don’t need—what about the processing?”

“It’s something my crew can take care of. Coran has the deck; I’m coming to give you backup.”

Keith laughs, incredulous. “We don’t—Shiro, you don’t have to do this. You should stay here, in case something happens.”

“And if something _does_ happen, I _trust_ in the Atlas bridge team. Otherwise, they wouldn’t _be_ my team,” Shiro says. He smiles a little. “And if you’re telling me you’ve already forgotten some of the amazing things Coran could do on the Castle of Lions with him at the helm...”

“...But it’s not the—“

“Keith,” Shiro laughs. His prosthetic floats over to settle on Keith’s shoulder and squeeze. Eyes creased, Shiro gives him a confident smile. “Trust in Coran. I do. He’s better at this now than he was before. Besides, I spent long enough in the astral abyss contemplating infinity and counting my arm hairs, if someone gives me one more datapad to look over, I might actually kick it this time. _Let me come with_.”

Keith sighs and rolls his eyes hard enough to nearly strain an eyeball. “...No bad jokes about dying in the Black Lion.”

“Heh. Promise.”

He can’t help himself. Keith grins and wriggles his shoulder free of Shiro’s prosthetic, giving it a backhanded smack while he’s at it. Shiro catches his wrist and they grapple for a tic, before Keith finally grabs his hand firmly, thumb over thumb, just like old times.

“Good to have you, Shiro.”

“Good to be here.”

Together, they board; the space wolf has Lahn all but cornered in the back of the cockpit, keeping him leaned up against a storage unit and trying to flatten himself against the wall. Keith nearly misses the almost _smug_ look Shiro gives Lahn when the space wolf turns to him and starts happily wagging his tail.

The flight is, for the most part, entirely uneventful. Shiro doesn’t bother making small talk with Lahn, Lahn doesn’t bother reciprocating any sort of prompt for communication. Keith just focuses on keeping steady on course, watching the radar for anomalies. The paladins chat amongst themselves over the comms, and it’s only when there’s a lull in the conversation that Keith decides to speak.

“What was your fleet doing way out here?” He asks. He can’t see Lahn’s face, but he hears him snort.

“Doing what was necessary to survive.”

Shiro’s voice is patient, but cool. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“...The Galra empire is hemorrhaging. We do what is necessary. In the fleet’s case, they were sent to an abandoned base to salvage munitions.”

“ _Weaponry. For what, exactly?_ ” Allura pipes in. Keith can tell she’s trying to keep her voice light, but there’s a tinge of an accusation in her tone.

“...Defense.”

 _“Approaching the location of the distress signal origin now,_ ” Pidge interrupts. All heads turn in time to see the carnage spread before them: millions upon millions of tiny parts; lifeless ships floating in the endless void. Keith stares at it, stricken, his eyes catching on a humanoid-shaped lump some distance from the head of Voltron. He prays that it is only a sentry, and shudders in his seat.

He’s not alone. Through the threads binding Voltron together, he feels his fellow paladins shiver as one, feel fear as one, trepidation as one. Keith tightens his grip on the drive shaft.

“ _What happened out here?_ ” Lance asks over the comms, voice grave. Keith tries to respond, but he feels Shiro come up beside him and stand there with him. Comfort washes over him when he realizes he isn’t alone, and his comfort is echoed by the paladins as Shiro’s influence trickles down the threads.

“Take it slow, Paladins,” Keith commands when he regains composure, pushing forward with Voltron’s thrusters. They lift their hands up to gently bat debris out of the way.

“ _No signs of life, nothing. But there’s something—something coming from the ship at the end,_ ” Pidge says. 

“Warlord Lahn,” Shiro says, hand on the back of Keith’s pilot chair. “Is that—“

“Yes. It’s Klytax V-Three.”

“Try opening a hail, Keith.”

Keith nods, already reaching for the button. “On it.”

The moment he opens a comm link with the cruiser, the line goes to static. Keith squints at the readings on the comm link, suspicious.

“...This is Keith and Shiro; Black Paladin of Voltron and Captain of the IGF Atlas. Hailing Klytax V-Three. Searching for survivors. Do you copy?”

Silence.

“This is Lahn,” Lahn snaps, loudly. “Your _commander_. Do you copy?”

_Yordam. Being. Exus. Yordam. Bering. Exus._

“ _Oookay_ ,” Lance says. “ _You can count me as creeped out._ ”

“ _Uh, yeah,_ ” Hunk agrees. “ _This is beginning to look more and more like a haunted house? Like. A space-y. Ship. Haunted house… thing._ ”

“Someone in there is sending those signals, and we have to help them in any way we can,” Keith says. Hunk sighs heavily over the comms.

“ _I know, I know, yeah. I’m all for rescuing and all that. But uh, but if I start seeing ghosts, I’m, I’m—the one who called it first._ ”

Keith gets up from the pilot’s chair and moves back to Lahn to uncuff his wrists while Shiro stands by and peers out at the decrepit, darkened Galra cruiser. His eyes search it ceaselessly, as if waiting for the survivor on the ship to get up on deck and start jumping and waving. 

“The Yellow Paladin. Is he always so insufferable?” Lahn asks. Keith tosses the cuffs aside and watches the warlord massage his wrists. 

“If by insufferable, you mean he’s good at helping everyone keep their cool, then yes. He is _always_ that way.”

“...His words indicate that Klytax V-Three is somehow haunted.”

“We love our morbid jokes around here,” Keith deadpans. He looks over his shoulder. “Shiro. Are you ready? Lahn and I are taking the space wolf in to get the airlock open and secure the entry. Paladins, Shiro’s gonna lead you in when we have the all-clear.”

“ _Copy_.”

The space wolf makes quick work of porting both Keith and Lahn onto the abandoned cruiser. Debris floats around them, hanging in the darkness and catching the dim light like tiny ornaments. Keith flicks on his wrist flashlight and moves it slowly around the ship. 

“All clear.”

As Lahn jetpacks away to open the airlock, Keith continues to scan the ship’s interior, looking everywhere for clues of some sort of battle, some sort of struggle. But he sees nothing but broken, crumbled debris. Given the state of the outside of the ship, it doesn’t look like they had been attacked from the outside coming in, but rather from the inside out. He squints just as his flashlight touches the very edge of what almost look like gouging claw marks in the side of the—

“This place really went through the wringer, huh?”

Lance’s voice draws Keith’s attention away from his task, and he turns to shine his flashlight in the faces of the paladins as they arrive, instead. Everyone squints, holding up their hands to shield their eyes.

“Hey! I’m already blind!” Pidge cries. Keith gives her a flat look, switches his flashlight off, and jetpacks closer.

“You don’t even need glasses,” he points out, and Pidge gives him a nervous little half-grin. Once Keith is close enough, he can see the discomfort in the eyes of his fellow paladins. Lance flinches away from a bit of debris that hits his shoulder. Hunk clasps his hands in front of him, wringing them. And Allura’s face is just deceptively blank as she turns in place and scans the interior with her flashlight, just as Keith did.

“You… you think this is kind of what the debris fields looked like after _we_ battled fleets of Galra?” Hunk asks. His voice is small. Keith pinches his lips together.

“Probably.” He doesn’t sugarcoat it for a second. Hunk’s shoulders fall, and he looks around the room like it’s his first time he’s ever been in a graveyard. His gaze rakes silently, slowly over the wreckage, like if he moves slow enough, he won’t have to see any dead bodies.

“Hunk—everyone—we need to focus on the mission at hand,” Shiro says. His voice is solemn, but unwavering as his eyes flick to Keith. He gives him a small, subtle nod. “This is just another rescue mission.”

“Just keep calm. We’ll split off in pairs. Hunk, Lance, you take the aft. Pidge and Allura, take Lahn to recover any security footage you can find and report it back to the rest of us if you find something out. Me and Shiro will head to the bow.”

Lahn, who has been completely silent this whole time, decides now is a good time to speak. Scathingly, “I don’t _like_ taking orders on my own ship.”

Keith bites right back. “Noted.”

-*-

Drifting silently through the eerie, skeletal remains of a Galra cruiser is harrowing, but at least they’re not alone. As Keith and Shiro pause in a debris-cluttered corridor, the space wolf pops into existence beside them and starts sniffing at a little chunk of metal. He gives it an experimental lick, curious, and pounces after it when it floats away.

“I’m not seeing anything but sentries,” Keith says. He turns to Shiro, watching as he sends his prosthetic arm ahead to grab hold of a sentry’s severed head and pull it closer to the both of them. 

“The abnormal bio-scans Pidge picked up are still coming through on my radar,” Shiro murmurs. He pulls up the display and both he and Keith watch the tiny red blips all over the ship, coming and going in uneven intervals. Shiro’s face screws up in concentration, right eyebrow cocked as always, and it brings a little laugh bubbling up Keith’s chest. When Shiro hears him, his concentration breaks and the side of his lip quirks into a little smile. “What is it? What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Keith snorts. He waves his hand dismissively and continues up the hall. “It’s stupid.”

Shiro follows after him. “No, tell me.”

“...Your eyebrow. When you concentrate, it, uh… has a mind of its own.”

Shiro’s face immediately falls, and he puts the most flat look on his face that he can muster. As Keith laughs again, the space wolf starts nudging and pushing at him, trying to get in on all of the attention. Absently, still chuckling, Keith strokes his mane. Shiro raises and lowers his eyebrows; first his left, then his right, then both. Experimenting with them.

“Slav said something about my eyebrows, actually.”

“...Seriously?”

“Yes,” Shiro mutters. “He said that we could increase our chances of survival by _exactly_ seven percent if I shave both of them off. And then someone found him trying to sneak into my quarters with a razor.”

“...Wow.”

“Holt wanted to jettison him onto the nearest planet and let him find his own way back to civilization.”

“But scout’s honor said no?”

“Actually,” Shiro says, voice light. “I agreed. It was _Veronica_ that stood up for him. Iverson and Curtis think it’s hilarious that Slav gets under my skin; like it’s some sort of catharsis for Iverson, some sort of revenge for when I drove him crazy during my cadet days. And Curtis just likes being contradictory because he likes to see how far he can push before I snap.”

“The Atlas crew didn’t waste any time finding out what makes you tick, huh?”

“ _No_. Reminds me of another crew of mine...”

The light conversation makes it much easier to focus on the mission at hand rather than be afraid of the foreboding, increasingly odd state of the ship. They pass dozens of halls filled with the floating remains of hundreds of broken sentries, but no organic remains can be found, anywhere. Furthermore, the blips on the radar indicating biorhythms continue to jump all over the place, effectively leading them on a wild goose chase through the bowels of an unfamiliar cruiser. 

“Are you seeing these claw marks?”

Shiro’s voice draws Keith away from the broken-up remains of a sentry that looks like it had been ripped to pieces by something much, much larger than it. He looks to where Shiro is pointing his flashlight and his mouth goes dry at the sight of three gouges carved into the metal wall of the corridor. The metal puckers at the gashes. It was no machine that did this--it was some sort of beast.

Not a moment later, Pidge opens up a comm between the entire team. “ _Guys. You need to be careful_ — _these readings, they… well. Just be on the lookout for a giant monster._ ”

“Keith,” Shiro says, quietly. He looks over his shoulder, face grim. “I get the sense that the only biorhythms we’ve been finding are… whatever beast is on this ship.”

Keith stares at him for a long moment, speechless, and immediately opens up comms with Pidge again, only to be met with static and distortion. “Pidge? I need more information about this monster, I—Pidge? Do you copy?”

Shiro and Keith meet eyes, Shiro’s expression turning severe in an instant as he attempts to open comms as well.

“Nothing. I’m disconnected.”

As they float there, contemplating, the space wolf bristles and starts to snarl, just in time for both Keith and Shiro to hear a rhythmic clattering sound just around the corner. They tense and, like clockwork, Shiro reaches out to put his prosthetic hand on Keith’s shoulder, pulling him closer as if to defend him. Keith adjusts his grip on his bayard.

Together, they cautiously peek around the corner, only to find a lone sentry struggling to pry itself free from a doorway that’s jammed on either side of it. It’s already crushed at the waist, likely to only fall apart right after being freed.

“What’s the plan, Keith?” Shiro asks. “We can head back now or we can continue to look for survivors. It’s your call.”

“I doubt there _are_ survivors to find. Look at the size of these gouges.”

“You’re probably right.”

“But if there’s someone here who needs our help—“

A sudden, tumultuous crashing sound followed by the distant echoes of crumbling debris has both Shiro and Keith jumping and whirling around to face the direction of the sound. But a moment later, there’s crashing right behind them again. And to their left. And to their right. They spin in place, weapons raised--Keith his bayard, Shiro with simply his arm, waiting for the beast to come careening down the corner any second. 

By the time things have gone quiet, Shiro and Keith stand back-to-back, scanning the corridors for any signs of movement in the darkness. 

“Continue forward or rendezvous with the others?” Shiro asks in a soft, but harsh, whisper. 

“Rendezvous. _Now_. Where’s the space wol—“

The space wolf zaps into view beside them, his hackles raised and a guttural snarl deep in his chest. He’s staring down a darkened hallway, seemingly frozen in place as he stares at something beyond Shiro and Keith’s field of vision. Both of them tense, waiting, as they fall completely silent save for their shallow breathing.

Somewhere in the darkness, there’s a clattering sound, the sound of something coming their way. 

“Keith,” Shiro breathes, just loud enough for even Keith to hear. Keith barely spares him a glance back, too busy staring wide-eyed at the dark hall stretched out before him. Slowly, he reaches down to settle a hand on the space wolf’s back. Shiro follows suit, and together they lie in wait as the clattering gets closer and closer.

He only sees it for a second.

A gaping maw, unnatural limbs and a bluish-grey body, something he recognizes not from looks alone but from a description his mother had given him, months and months ago on an escape ship. Talons big enough to shred metal and cut through flesh and bone like nothing, and a mane of scraggly hair. No eyes to speak of; just a hunter relying on instinct alone, and the primal urge to kill.

It roars as it catapults towards the both of them, but the space wolf is ready, and just as it comes close, he ports both Keith and Shiro away.

“What was that thing?!” Shiro yells as soon as they’re in the clear; somewhere a few corridors down. But before Keith can even think to answer, or share his theory on what this thing is, there’s a tumultuous crash as the same beast explodes through the metal walls down the hall. It’s head snaps towards Keith and, in a flurry of flailing limbs, it comes rushing after him.

He doesn’t even have time to react, no time to think, no time to even put his hands up in defense. He hears Shiro scream something that sounds like his name, but the monster rams its jagged beak into Keith and sends him flying back to the end of the hall. He slams into the metal wall with enough force to punch the air right out of his lungs, and he lets out a pained gurgle as his head spins.

Distantly, past the ringing in his ears, he can hear Shiro calling for him again. Keith grips his bayard tighter and barely gets his shield up in time for the pinkish laser that comes down the hallway in a deadly beam. It thrusts him back against the wall, knocking his head back against the metal, but he manages to roll out of the way before his shield gives in to the pressure.

The space wolf ports in beside him a moment before the monster rips its way down the hall, gouging holes in the walls and the floor with its claws as it comes. Keith reaches out with a shaking arm, trying to reach the wolf’s mane, but the monster is faster. All Keith sees as he floats there, still hiccuping on the breath he’s struggling to get in, is the monster’s tail wrap around the space wolf’s body.

“ _NO!_ ” Keith wheezes as he hears the space wolf cry and bray in pain. The monster throws him against the wall with enough force to kill a normal dog, but the space wolf just slumps down and floats there in zero-gravity, momentarily dazed. The distraction is all the monster needs and, rearing back, it comes down towards Keith, about to snap his body clean in half with its powerful jaw—

Before it can snap down around Keith, however, something rockets in out of nowhere and grabs the monster by the teeth, powerful thrusters on the underside forcing it to keep its mouth open and giving Keith enough time to roll out from underneath it. His jet pack sputters, damaged from the hit to the wall, but he manages to get to the space wolf and pick up his limp pet.

When he turns back around to see what had saved him, his eyes widen at the sight of Shiro’s prosthetic arm, single-handedly wrestling with the monster’s jaw. Shiro himself is overhead, the port for his arm glowing a brighter, more brilliant blue as he strains to hold the monster’s jaw open.

“Shiro!” Keith yells. “The wolf!”

Shiro glances towards him, understanding instantly, and he kicks off from the ceiling to jet pack towards the wolf, his left hand outstretched to take his mane, to escape—

The monster gets a firmer grip on Shiro’s Altean arm and, with a powerful flex of his jaw, crushes the metal wrist with a sickening _crunch_. The blue glow in the port of Shiro’s shoulder flickers and starts to dim instantly, and Shiro gets a stricken, lost look in his face, as if part of his brain had just shut down. Keith watches in horror as the monster spits out the damaged prosthetic, whips its head around to face him, and comes after him again.

With the space wolf limp in his arms, and Shiro hanging there mid-air, frozen in place and not responding to any of Keith’s desperate calls for him, Keith feels his heart rise in his throat, his stomach clench, his brain whirring. His bayard glows white-hot in his grip, fills his arm with electricity, and there’s a flash of white light so blinding that Keith squints against it, unable to look directly into it. The monster closes in on him, seconds from finishing him off, but Keith raises his arm and his bayard comes to life; an arm cannon, almost as long as he is tall. 

As if called from the heavens themselves, a beam of light explodes from the tip of the gun, so intense that it lights up the entire corridor. It hits the monster square in the chest and propels it backwards. It flies far, far down the hall, and buys Keith exactly five precious seconds. 

It’s all he needs. 

Kicking off the wall he’d been trapped against, Keith holds the space wolf under one arm, gathers up Shiro’s prosthetic in the other, and returns to Shiro. The monster is already tearing its way down the hall, roaring in fury, and carrying the sick stench of seared fur and blood and bone.

Keith wraps his arms around Shiro’s limp body as best as he can and, crying out for the space wolf, he clings tight and holds his breath as blue light enshrouds them.

They port away just as the monster’s talons swipe through the blue particles left in their wake.

This time, they end up in the command room with the others, who are all worked up into a panic as they scramble to communicate with Keith and Shiro through the comms. 

“Keith!” “It’s Keith! And—what’s wrong with Shiro?” “Shiro!” “Kosmo’s hurt!”

All of them yell over each other, running over and swarming Keith and Shiro to help. Keith pushes at them, breathless.

“Shiro’s—Shiro’s hurt—Allura, Allura the monster, it—his arm—he just went limp, I don’t—“

Allura reacts quickly, surging forward and grabbing Shiro with a superhuman strength Keith had forgotten that she had. Her paladin suit adjusts with her as she expands her size to be able to easily hold Shiro around the middle against her side, and takes his prosthetic arm in the other hand.

“I can fix him,” she assures Keith, and that’s enough to calm him for now. Hunk takes up the space wolf, cradling him, as Keith jetpacks forward and nearly crashes into the command console.

“The base your men were salvaging, was it Ranveig’s base?” Keith yells towards Lahn, who follows him to the command console.

“I—yes—“

“The monster. It’s a super weapon, and it—it was supposed to hunt down sources of quintessence, it was—“ 

Lance butts in, “How much do you know about this monster?!”

“My mom—my mom and I, we—accidentally released it,” Keith says, dismayed. “This is my fault.”

“ _You_ unleashed this beast?” Lahn snarls. “To destroy your enemies and whoever might defy you? It’s just what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”

“You’re a real piece of work,” Lance bites right back. “How many times do we have to say that we’re on your sid—“

There’s a distant crashing sound that rattles the entire room. Hunk yelps and Lance lets out a very manly squeal, diving towards Allura and hiding behind her oversized shoulder. Keith whirls to face Pidge.

“Pidge! Is there some sort of self destruct protocol in this ship’s command codes?” He barks. Pidge nods once and flies forward, scrambling to go through the ship’s database and search for the self destruct protocol. 

“I found some interesting information in the databank as well, it’s already been downloaded,” Pidge says, hurried as she fumbles through the commands. “Once I launch the sequence, we have two doboshes to safely exit the ship.”

“Two doboshes?!” Lance splutters. His voice raises half an octave. “That’s not enough time!”

“We’re going to have to make it enough time,” Keith says. He turns from the console to get everyone evacuated, but he freezes as the doors at the back of the command room slide open. There the monster stands, reared back on hind legs. Behind him, Pidge whimpers and grabs hold of Keith’s arm, tight enough to feel her fingers digging into the inside of his elbow.

In a flurry of motion and gunfire, the command room descends into chaos. The monster comes flailing towards them, tongue lolling and beams of light bursting forth from between its teeth. As Keith’s jetpack sputters behind him, propelling him across the room, the monster’s beam follows him, exclusively him, and that’s when he realizes.

“It’s only after me,” he breathes. His voice rises to a shout. “ _Everybody out!_ Get out, it’s after me! I’ll be right behind you!”

Lahn stares up at him, dumbfounded, but Keith’s too busy nimbly dodging the monster’s swipes and beams of laserfire. One of its talons clips his boot at one point, sending him careening into the wall, but the distraction is enough for the paladins to scramble out the door. Lahn is a second too late, nearly crashing into the locked doors as they slam shut in front of him.

Upside-down, pressed against the wall, Keith raises his bayard and, in yet another flash of blinding white light, summons the cannon he had before. He braces it with both arms and fires, nailing the monster right in its open mouth as it lunges for him. It flies backwards into the command console, and a falling metal panel from the ceiling of the quaking ship pins it.

He doesn’t waste a moment parsing how much time they have left, instead kicking off the wall to get to the door and gruffly shoving Lahn aside.

“Clear the door!” he bellows, just before melting a hole through the thick metal trapping them in the room. Grabbing Lahn, Keith flies through the exit he’d just made while half his team splutters over the comms.

“Since when do you have a cool cannon?!” Lance yells.

“Yeah, yeah, I thought—you know, cannons were kinda my thing—” Hunk mumbles.

“Do you have Shiro and the wolf?” Keith yells, even though he can clearly see Hunk lugging the space wolf along, still limp in his arms. He looks back, finding Allura to his right, and she offers him a reassuring smile as she adjusts Shiro’s body under her arm.

It’s all he needs to see, all that really matters in the moment. When the ship explodes, it’s powerful enough to send them all head over heels into the void of space, but the monster goes down with the ship it had ravaged. The danger is no more, and the paladins of Voltron let out a deep, collective sigh of relief.

-*-

“I’m surprised you don’t want to be out there to listen to Warlord Lahn’s address to the Galra.”

Allura sure doesn’t sound surprised. Keith peers at her, doubtful, one brow cocked as he leans back in his chair with his arms crossed. They’re in the infirmary together, Shiro laid out on a white, sterile bed as Allura lays her hands gently over his Altean arm. Her hands glow blue, repairing it, repairing _him_ , and it holds Keith’s gaze captive until his eyes sting and he’s forced to blink.

“It’s taking you a long time to fix it,” Keith mutters. Allura shoots him a look, exasperated but tinged with a kind little smile.

“Patience, Keith. He’ll be fine. I promise.”

“That’s what you said while he was in the healing pod. When he almost didn’t wake up.”

“But he did wake up,” Allura reminds him. She is infinite patience where Keith is infinite impatience, and the frustration prompts a grunt from him. His heel taps incessantly on the ground, eyes glued to Shiro’s face. His eyes are still closed.

“It’s not even attached to him. Why did it…?”

“The crystal powering his arm works in mysterious ways. You could almost say it’s a living part of him. Something almost sentient, kind of like the Castle of Lions was,” Allura explains. She smiles down at Shiro’s face; it almost looks like he could simply be sleeping. “Keith, please don’t worry. This time I know he’ll be alright. I _built_ this arm. I can fix it.”

Keith takes in a shuddering breath. Tries to relax in his chair, even though his heel is still bouncing. “...I trust you.”

“You better trust Allura.”

Keith looks up as Lance enters the infirmary, helmet tucked under his arm and a smirk on his face. It fades, though, when he sees Shiro.

“Shouldn’t you be at the rally?” Allura asks. Lance shrugs, walks up to Shiro’s bed, and plops his helmet down next to his legs.

“It was _boring_. Just a thick-headed jerk realizing we’ve been on his side the whole time and telling all his bros to support us. It only took us almost dying for no reason to convince him. Even a dummy like me could figure out where his speech was going, so I just bailed.”

“You’re not dumb,” Allura says, her voice soft and fond. She sways to the side, bumping her hip against Lance’s. “I’ve almost got Shiro’s arm fixed.”

“Jeez, Keith, did you break him?”

Keith bristles, figures out quick that he’s being teased, and huffs as he crosses his arms and slumps back in his chair. “It was the monster.”

“What was _with_ that thing, anyway? You said it was after you.” Lance pulls up a nearby chair and flops down in it. Elbows folded on the bed, he squints at Keith and makes a show of rubbing his chin in thought. “Like, first you said it’s after quintessence. Which, okay. Most of the bad guys we ever fight are after more of that stuff. But then—it was just after you. Are you like. Half Galra, half human, half… Balmeran crystal, or something?”

“...He would have to be a third of all of those things for that to make sense, Lance.”

Pidge and Hunk walk in, then, Pidge smugly adjusting her glasses and Hunk just looking worried for Shiro as they join everyone else at Shiro’s bedside. Lance shoots Pidge a look.

“Yeah, _whatever_ , we’re talking about Keith’s weird quintessence-y magical wizard powers or whatever, not giving a math lesson. Who are you, Veronica?”

Keith interrupts before anything else can get out of hand. “Is the wolf okay, Hunk?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s fine. He was pretending to be more injured than he was, until we gave him a big huge steak. It was sooo cute. Minus the. You know. Bloody wolf jaws.”

Relaxing Keith gives Hunk a weary smile. “Good. Thanks.”

“...Man… is he, uh. Is he going to be okay?” Hunk leans over the hospital bed, chewing his lip and peering down at Shiro.

“He’ll be _fine_ ,” Allura says. “Now, _please_ , everyone. Give me a little _room_.”

The paladins shift to obey her just as her hands stop glowing blue and lift away from Shiro’s arm. Incrementally, the port starts to glow blue again, the arm floating upwards to rejoin with Shiro in its usual place. As soon as it does, Shiro’s brow crumples and he groans, one eye peeking open.

“...Keith?” is the first word out of his mouth, croaked out and groggy. Keith scrambles to stand, nearly falling over himself to lean over Shiro and put a hand on the center of his chest.

“ _Shiro_ ,” he chokes. Shiro just laughs, weakly, his left hand coming up so he can brush against the underside of Keith’s bicep with the backs of his knuckles.

“...Hey, buddy. You’re going to give me a damsel in distress complex if you keep this up.”

The stricken, worried look on Keith’s face dissipates immediately, folding into something softer, more fond.

“Okay. This is, this—this is really tender and sweet, and all, and I hate to break it up, but uh,” Hunk interrupts. Keith straightens, abrupt, as he remembers that there are, in fact, others in the room. Hunk gestures vaguely at Keith. “So something’s up with Keith? Weird quintessence stuff?”

Shiro’s brows knit and he shifts on the bed, enough that Allura has to put a hand on his shoulder to settle him. “What? What’s going on with Keith? What happened?”

“By all means, it doesn’t make sense,” Pidge murmurs. She scratches at her scalp. “If it’s a quintessence thing, then it would go after Allura, too. Right?”

Lance sniffs. “I would’ve known if it was going after Allura.”

“I don’t know what it means. But I _do_ know… Keith, you’re sensitive to quintessence, aren’t you?” Allura asks. Keith tenses, looking around the room. Everyone staring at him. He’s brought back, suddenly, to visions of the same group of people, glaring at him. Distrusting him. Every fiber in his body screams at him to cringe away, to leave the room, look down at his feet. But he holds his head high, fists clenched at his sides.

“I don’t know exactly what it means,” he echoes Allura. “And that’s the truth. I was healed by quintessence once, I thought it had something to do with being… Galra. When we were at the ruins, that druid brought up an injury I had once, fixed by quintessence. My hand.”

Keith lifts said hand, twisting it back and forth for everyone to see, even if there are no answers to be gleaned off the mere sight of it.

“...But that’s honestly all I know. There are… other, small times where I thought maybe something was different, and I’ve always felt more connected to… everything the lions are, and Voltron itself, and…” Keith trails off. He finally breaks eye contact, ducking his head. “I don’t know. But I haven’t… I didn’t keep anything from anyone. I didn’t—didn’t think it mattered. That’s all.”

“Nobody’s saying you were hiding something from us.” The soothing voice comes from Lance, which draws Keith’s gaze back up to him, perhaps a little vulnerable. Lance just gives him an easy, half-cocked grin. “We’ve got your back, man.”

“Yeah,” Pidge says. She shrugs. “Something’s weird. We’ll figure it out just like we always do. In the meantime, I ran some diagnostics on the encrypted files I pulled from that cruiser. And… it’s bad, guys.”

“Oh, that’s my favorite thing to hear,” Hunk groans.

Shiro straightens, instantly back to business. “What is it?”

“More of those robeasts. The one that attacked earth wasn’t the only one.”

“ _What?!_ ” Lance squeaks. Allura’s face turns grave and Hunk pales, glancing at Keith for answers, then Shiro, then Keith again.

“We made a vow to bring peace across the universe. We have to see it through,” Shiro says. He looks down at his Altean arm, giving the fingers a faint, weak twitch. “Knowing what those robeasts can do, it needs to be bumped up the priority list. But, I think it’s plain to see I’ll be out of commission for a little while as I recover.”

“It will heal itself over time, just like the lions,” Allura assures him. She settles a hand on his shoulder. “Transforming the Atlas might be difficult for a few days.”

“Voltron will go,” Keith offers. Shiro looks up at him, expression pinched, his eyes doing something that makes something twist deep in Keith’s heart. But he’s steadfast, holding Shiro’s gaze and refusing to look away from him. 

Shiro doesn’t look away, either. “You won’t have any backup. I won’t be there—the _Atlas_ won’t be there to defend you.”

“We’ll be okay.” Keith says it confidently as he looks up at the paladins. All of them straighten a little, eyes going bright with determination. All at once, Keith knows they will be fine. He smiles and puts a hand on Shiro’s wrist, squeezing tightly. “I promise.”

That seems to ease Shiro a bit, and he relaxes back on the infirmary pillow with a deep sigh. A weary smile rises to his lips.

“I trust you. Be safe. And if you need me—if you need backup. Just know that the Atlas is always with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wanted Shiro’s relationship to the white lion to be about becoming a sort of guardian angel/protector from above sort of thing... pity that wasn’t explored more. Them honestly leaving it at “the white lion is the atlas and is an almost completely separate entity from voltron” just seems kind of lame and cashed-in. This was my solution.
> 
> Shiro would be fucking bored with planetary processing and a bunch of red tape stuff. Our shiro would’ve joined them.
> 
> This episode in canon seemed filler-y and really gimmicky as it stood. It would’ve been better to use it to explore the established sensitivity to quintessence Keith has.
> 
> Special thanks to [nautilicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nautilicious) here on AO3 for their wonderful beta reading and editing work.
> 
> Extra special thanks to [morse](https://twitter.com/realsheithhours), who works with AO3's policy and copyright protection team and is working with me to ensure I stay within AO3's copyright infringement policy.
> 
> You can follow my [twitter here](https://twitter.com/weavelle). You can follow my [tumblr here.](https://weavelle.tumblr.com)
> 
> Official tag for this fic will be [#TUYICY](https://twitter.com/search?f=tweets&q=%23tuyicy&src=typd)

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [nautilicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nautilicious) here on AO3 and [Courtney](https://twitter.com/B1ackPa1adins) on twitter for their beta reading and editing work.
> 
> Extra special thanks to [morse](https://twitter.com/realsheithhours), who works with AO3's policy and copyright protection team and is working with me to ensure I stay within AO3's copyright infringement policy.
> 
> You can follow my [twitter here](https://twitter.com/weavelle). You can follow my [tumblr here.](https://weavelle.tumblr.com)
> 
> Updates to this fic will come as fast as I can make them and polish them. No more than a week between updates. Official tag for this fic will be [#TUYICY](https://twitter.com/search?f=tweets&q=%23tuyicy&src=typd)


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